One Magnet To Another
by LifeBecameAScreenplay
Summary: Tegan and Sara accidentally expose their desire to be more than sisters one night at a party in Austin and tour life becomes a rollercoaster from there. Quincest.
1. Chapter 1: No One Knows Who We Are

**Chapter 1: No One Knows Who We Are**

**Sara's POV**

"What the hell are we doing here?" I ask her, uncomfortably shifting from one foot to the other as we wait in a line amidst a crowd of teenagers and twenty somethings outside of a rundown building in a seedy part of a town we're not even totally familiar with. I'm freezing—Tegan's advised that I leave my jacket at the hotel where we're spending the next few nights, though I'm currently wondering why I'd ever take her advice to begin with. She rang a cab just after ten, we arrived not much after ten thirty, and now it's practically been an hour and we're still standing in a line that seems to be at a bit of a standstill. I don't understand—raves had never been so openly advertised, and I wouldn't be terribly surprised if my sister's gotten some crowded wannabe club mixed up with the underground parties we used to duck into in Calgary back in the 90s. She seems to be ignoring my complaints with blatant disregard though, a smug smile tugging at the corner of her lips as hands keep themselves warm in the back pockets of her jeans. "I swear to God, Tee…don't you think we're a bit old for all of this?" I try again, though when identically coloured eyes meet mine, that ignorant look of firmness shuts me up, though I don't keep from sassing her with an exasperated sigh. This is how it's been for the past fifteen plus years of our lives together—Tegan's always fixed on having the last word, even when she hasn't said a thing.

I take to observing the unfamiliar faces around us—teenagers with colourfully beaded handmade jewelry anywhere they can wear it with flashing pacifiers and gloves with colour changing lights in the fingertips. The scene truly had taken a strangely flashy turn for the worst, I think to myself. Or perhaps I'm just too old for this, which is exactly what I've told my twin. We're too old for this. "We should have just caught that Zedd show," I grumble, more to myself than anyone. "At least we could have had—"

Before I can even finish my sentence, Tegan's hand is clasped over my mouth, brows raised in slight frustration. "Stop complaining," she orders, hand moving to clap against my shoulder blade a few times before she nods towards the two girls in front of us. "Line's moving. Let's go."

Within fifteen minutes we're at the front of the line, handing over a twenty dollar cover before having the backs of our hands stamped with something that looks like a cloud in ink that isn't entirely visible to the eye unless held at a particular angle under a light or something that can capture the glistening. "I can't see it—"I try, but the shady looking bouncer has a hand on my shoulder and is shoving me through the door with a rude "get inside" before I can even express concern. Turning to Tegan as much as I can in a hallway not much wider than the span of my shoulders, I can't even keep myself from bitching. "If we just paid twenty dollars to get in and I can't see this shit, I'm going to be pissed." But she too is rushing me up the corridor, hands clasped onto my sides as she attempts to use me as a shield to barrel through the crowd.

Inside, once my momentary claustrophobia has let up, it's much bigger than I had initially guessed. Much more put together, too. Speakers that practically reach the ceiling are forcing the ground and walls around us to tremble with the heavy bass of electro music that's new to me, though far more pleasant than the terrible influx of dubstep that I've heard lately. Tegan's intent on scouting the place, for what I don't quite know, but within a moment's notice she's disappeared from my side, blending into a crowd of bodies pressed too close for comfort. Of fucking course she's disappeared.

Finding an empty spot against a nearby wall, I'm forced to lean back against it, arms folded tightly across my chest as I take in this new environment. Small things remind me of our days as teenagers at warehouse parties in Alberta, but the sounds and visuals of lights and projectors alone leave me feeling out of my comfort zone. I sigh and can't even contain my urge to dig my phone from my pocket to busy my senses with something familiar, scrolling through old text messages in hopes of receiving one that is new and that I can reply to.

**Tegan's POV**

Sara's such a buzz kill—I'll tell her time and time again throughout the night, I'm sure. So we're not 17 anymore, big fucking deal. I've lost myself in this crowd for only a moment or two now and already I've managed to point out a few slimy fuckers older than myself. There's something in particular that I'm looking for that shouldn't be difficult to find, and I know exactly who to look for. Someone not totally obvious, as that could be a cop attempting to reel in bait for reason to shut this entire operation down, but someone not terribly inconspicuous either. My searching eyes must seem hungry, because I'm tapped on the shoulder by a girl who can't be older than 21 sporting fairy wings and glittery makeup against her eyes. "Looking to roll?" she asks, and with a smug grin I nod, stepping closer so we're able to talk amongst ourselves without drawing attention to our conversation.

"What've you got?" I ask coolly, not wanting to seem overly eager. I know how this game works, and I'm not trying to end up being robbed blindly by some girl who thinks she's smarter. Removing a small bag from her pocket, she shows me circular green pills with two horizontal lines carved into them. "Green equals," she replies, pulling the baggie open and dumping a few into her palm. "The best we've got in the city right now."

I've heard of these—they've made their way from Canada actually, through Chicago and apparently down to Austin. Nothing but good reviews, and I can't keep myself from fishing a few bills from my wallet. "What do you want for four?"

She gives me a once over, as if attempting to size up my worth. What a little shit. Maybe Sara's right, maybe we are too old for this, but certainly don't look it. "I like your hair," she finally says, running nimble fingertips through the dark and disheveled curls atop my head. Grinning, she hands me four pills before deciding. "I'll give you four for 45. Usually it'd be 60, but I like you."

Thank fuck for that good 'ol Quin charm. I should have dragged Sara over—maybe this girl would have flipped over the idea of seeing double. I take the pills gratefully while handing over two folded twenties and a five before drawing her in for a hug, wondering if PLUR is still a thing around these parts. "Thanks a lot," I say into her ear before wandering off, back to where I left Sara. No surprise that she's still cooped up against that wall, busying herself with a phone I told her to leave at the hotel. "Dumbass doesn't listen."

**Sara's POV**

I've taken it upon myself to go buy a water bottle for Tegan and I—even though the weather outside has cooled to a brisk wind, in here it may as well have been the dead of humid summer, and I've rolled the sleeves of a button down I stole from Tegan up to the middle of my upper arms. Speak of the devil, my twin's managed to reemerge from the crowd, a stupid gummy smile spread across her face as she practically hops over. "Got something to lighten your buzz killing self right up, "she says, tossing something into her mouth before snatching the bottle out of my hands and washing whatever it was down her throat. Immediately, my inner alarm is going off and I'm ripping it right back, anxiety pinpricking across my skin like blazing coals.

"What the fuck did you just take?" I ask, though she simply shakes her head and opens her palm to reveal two lime green pills speckled with shades of deeper green. We may have been removed from the scene for a while, but I'm not stupid enough to be unaware of what she's holding and apparently offering up to me. "No," I say firmly, smacking her hand away and watching as she closes her fingers in to avoid dropping the pills onto the sticky floor.

"C'mon," she whines, stomping her feet like a small child throwing a tantrum. "I spent money on these!"

"That's your problem, not mine," I tell her, giving her a stern look before returning to scrolling aimlessly through messages in my phone. Tegan's gone silent, and after a moment I'm looking up at her again, her gummy smile turning upside down into a dumb pout.

"You said you feel old, let's do something stupid then," she says to me, as if making a stupid decision would make me feel younger.

"Right, because having a night on ecstasy is going to make me feel younger? It's going to drain the hell out of me and make me feel awful in the morning," I correct her almost immediately with an eye roll for extra effect. But she's not going to let up easily—she is Tegan, after all.

**Tegan's POV**

An hour's gone by and Jesus, when that little fairy girl said these were the best in the city, she meant it. I think I've lost Sara but I'm not at all nervous as I usually would be. Instead, I'm wandering through the mass of sweaty bodies too close for comfort but I can't bring myself to care. Each brush with unfamiliar skin against my own leaves me suppressing a groan of comfort, though luckily it isn't one of pleasure. No, I haven't reached that cloud yet, but I'm sure I'm close to it. I feel a hand on my shoulder and immediately pivot on my heels, finding myself face to face with my twin. There she is. I can't believe how happy I am to see her. Something's off about her though—it almost seems as if she's on the same level as I am, eyes dilated and vibrating within their sockets. "Why'd you lose me?" she whines, her voice dreamy as she throws her arms around my neck, squeezing me closer as she bounces on her feet to the rhythm of the music surrounding us.

"What…?" I ask, entirely confused as my hands find the small of her back to give her a reassuring pat. "Did you take something?"

"Fairy girl gave me whatever she gave you," she explains, her head buried in the crook of my neck as she continues to attempt dancing, though she can't do much more than bounce up and down lazily on the balls of her feet. She looks ridiculous, but then again, we likely both do. I can't help but make note of how incredibly arousing it feels to have her warm breath playing against the sensitive skin of my neck, her fingertips gently raking against the space between my shoulder blades. The DJ, if I can even call him that, has started up Body Work by Morgan Page of all songs, bringing Sara and I into an unbelievable fit of laughter at the irony. But her fingertips are now brushing through the razor cut hair at the back of my head and she's practically breathing the lyrics into my ear as we move against each other, my hold steady on her hips to keep us in time. "_You do your body work, I feel my pulse working overtime…I get shy in these lights, I feel your body doing overtime. I get shy in these lights I feel my pulse doing overtime…" _I've never been this close to Sara in my life, and quite honestly, I can feel myself worrying through the haze the drugs have left me in. Why does the sound of her voice in my ear sound so terribly teasing? Why are the curves of her body cozier than the feeling of my own bed after months of sleeping in a tour bus cot? Why am I pulling her closer each time she coos, and why are my hands slipping beneath the hem of her shirt? And for fuck's sake, why is her skin like silk? Shut up, Tegan, you're rolling harder than you ever would have when you were a teenager. A stupid decision, remember?

**Sara's POV**

I can't even see straight. Why did I go after that girl with the fairy wings after Tegan disappeared into the crowd? Tegan's hair is softer than plush and I can't stop touching it. I can't stop touching her. But she's pulling me closer with each word that I sing in harmony with the recorded sound of our voices, and I can't lift my head from her shoulder—it's too heavy. Every inch of my body is heavy; I'm practically hanging on Tegan and depending on her to support my weight. But I can't keep myself steady—trust me, I'm trying. I'm drowning in an abyss of overwhelming emotion and sensations that I never knew existed. Tegan's fingertips are grazing the small of my back and somehow they managed to slip under my shirt without me noticing. Or maybe I did notice and I just don't care. Maybe I want this. I do want this. I want her closer.

I can't even keep myself from pressing kisses against the crook of her neck. I'm trying to rationalize with myself, but my mind isn't functioning properly. I'm capable of getting past the fact that she's my sister—in fact, I find myself drawn in even more than usual with the realization that we're so closely connected spiritually and so terribly identical physically that we may as well have been a strand of DNA unraveled to become to separate beings desperate to reconnect. I can feel myself becoming that strand, wrapping myself around Tegan as she pulls me closer and closer. I don't know if she realizes what's happening. Perhaps the drugs are affecting her differently. But before I can even process the situation at hand fully, my sister's lips are pressed against mine and her hands are holding my face so I can't pull away.

Needless to say, I can't resist the urge to give in and I'm kissing her back with every inch of desperation I've ever felt in my entire life.


	2. Chapter 2: Something To Me

**A/N: So glad you guys liked the first chapter-I can't lie, there's so much fantastic quincest on here that I thought it may be hard to stand out/have anyone particularly interested in following my fic. Sorry that this isn't as in depth as it could be, admittedly it was a bit rushed and I'm suffering through a small bit of writer's block but I promise the next chapter will be more thought out. Until then, have some purely smutty feels. **

**Chapter 2: Something to Me**

**Tegan's POV**

Drinking on ecstasy? Not my finest moment. Somehow Sara and I have wound up staggering from the rave to the bar of our hotel and now she's got a protective arm around my waist and continuously uttering "shhh" in hopes of calming the anxiety that's managed to build up in the pit of my stomach. Why is everything spinning? Are things supposed to spin when you're rolling? I've never had this problem before, but as we set foot in the elevator and it jerks upwards suddenly, I drop to the floor and curl up with my knees drawn to my chest and groan unpleasantly. I still feel overwhelmingly high, and my body is only progressively growing heavier and heavier as the moments pass, but my mind is playing games with me and contradicting the happiness that a full release of serotonin is supposed to leave me with. Floor six has the elevator coming to a halt, a ding alerting us that we've reached our destination. Sara's quick to help me onto my feet, leading me to our room while still supporting my weight against her. Somehow she's managed to be less affected by this than I am—that or she's doing too well at hiding it. Slipping the key card into the door, she pushes it open and allows it to close behind us before letting my body hit the bed like a ragdoll. But as soon as I'm lying flat, I don't feel quite as queasy. And before I can even process what's happening, Sara's switching the light off and tearing her shirt away, straddling my hips and feverishly tearing the button of my jeans open, thumb forcing the zipper down along with it. I try to speak up, but I'm so dizzied by the entire situation that I can't do much more than groan, my mind shutting off completely and allowing my body to switch into auto pilot. That being said, I'm not surprised that my hips are bucking upwards just enough to allow my twin to yank my pants from their cozy place at my waist, head falling back against the pillow top comforter. I can see the lust in Sara's dilated eyes—no one's ever looked at me so heavily before. Maybe I'm just high. Maybe this isn't happening. Maybe it's a vivid dream, but I can't help but hope to a god that I don't believe in that it isn't.

**Sara's POV**

I can't control myself. Every inch of Tegan's body is calling out to me, begging me to commit every curve to memory with my lips and fingers alike. I'm not trying to be rough, but I can't help it—I'll blame the drugs for the undying urge to tear every piece of clothing from my sister's body. Funny how a body mostly identical to mine is so intriguing, and I can't say I've been particularly interested in exploring Tegan as much as I am right now. It doesn't seem like she's afraid or reluctant. In fact, she's helping me as much as she can, shimmying out of skin tight jeans that I work over thighs that I'm dying to sink my teeth into. While my fingers are hooking into the elastic waistband of her boxer briefs and practically ripping them away, she's lifting her shirt over her head and tossing it haphazardly to the floor that will surely be a mess in the morning, and while my anal retentive tendencies would usually leave me frustrated with the mere thought, I can't bring myself to be bothered now. I can't believe that I feel unbearably hungry as my lips meet the smooth skin of Tegan's taut stomach with feverish desperation, my fingertips clawing down her sides and surfing over curves that aren't terribly noticeable in her new choice of wardrobe. It's only now that I'm capable of distinguishing our physical differences, teeth sinking into hipbones rising up to meet me. I'm caught off guard by Tegan's nails clawing down the bare skin of shoulder blades, drawing a terribly loud groan out of me from the pit of my stomach. While this drug is known for being lovey and romantic, I can't deny the fact that my body wants roughness. I think I may be able to handle more than usual, and I'm ready to push limits. I've already crossed the barrier with my sister—why not continue?

**Tegan's POV**

Jesus, I've never been so rough with someone in my life, but something deep inside is begging me to claw at Sara like I'm trying to tear her open and find the real meaning behind all of this. My mind is hazy, but I'm still capable of processing the immense waves of emotion beneath the surface. I'm not dizzy from the drugs, I'm dizzy from desire. Like tripping over realization, my soul searching has finally come to a total stand still when I find that I've never been so desperate for another person in my entire thirty two years. All these years spent searching out true love and it's been right beside me all this time…

My thought process is broken by the feeling of Sara's fingers slipping inside of me, an unbelievably sexy moan that sounds more like a growl following. The fluttering in the pit of my stomach has shifted into overdrive, and my hands are gripping the blankets beneath me for dear life. My lips plead for more almost immediately, my hips rolling in slow circles hoping to force her deeper. Force of habit has my hand clasping at her wrist, and I'm trying to take control from her through words husked out between gritted teeth. "Fuck…harder," I breathe, more of a command than an attempt to beg for what I want. But the hair falling over my sister's eyes as she hoovers over me isn't enough to hide her devious craving for domination, her free hand taking my wrists in a death grip and pinning them above my head as she forces her fingers deeper. Now I feel as if I can barely breathe and the room's back to spinning, my heart pounding against my ribs attempting to break free. I remember reading once that sex under the influence of ecstasy would ruin every intimate encounter after, and shamelessly I'm willing to admit that I don't think that idea even fazes me. If this is the last sex I'm ever going to enjoy, I'm plenty fine with it. That's supposed to make my stomach churn I'm sure, seeing that the person fucking me into another state of consciousness is my twin sister, but I can't bring myself to stop the way my body's reacting. I can feel myself soaking her fingers; my eyes vibrating behind eyelids squeezed shut. I want to look into Sara's eyes, but my vision is so wobbly that keeping them closed only helps me focus on the sensations more. She's panting into my ear now, breathing words I never thought I'd hear her say. "You're so fucking tight," she's husking, my body reacting by only squeezing her fingers tighter, the legs I've managed to wrap around her now trembling with anticipation. I'm so close that I can practically feel myself physically hanging over the edge, craving that final push that will send me into oblivion. And so I force my eyes open, dilated beyond the point of finding a recognizable colour, staring into orbs identical to my own. I manage to plead between heavy breaths, "Let me cum, Sara…please…"

**Sara's POV**

I won't let Tegan touch me—I'm too focused on giving her the best orgasm of her life. Little does she know that despite my quiet demeanor, I happen to be an awfully dominant person when it comes to sex, and this situation doesn't omit that fact. I can't help but admit that I'm getting a kick out of her submission—after all, she's always been known for her dominant act, but I know her better than that. The look in her eyes is pleading, handing over control so willingly that I'm almost in awe. I don't refrain from pressing my lips against hers as hard as I possibly can, addicted to rose petal lips smooth to the touch. Between a kiss I'm sure to encourage her to fall over the ledge she's desperate to tumble past, her warm breath that teases against my skin sending tingles up and down my spine. "Cum then," I whisper, catching her bottom lip between my teeth and driving my fingers as deep as I possibly can, curling them upwards to apply pressure to her weakest spot while my thumb works in circles over her clit. It doesn't take much more encouragement than that to throw Tegan into what seems to be a mind blowing orgasm, inflating my ego beyond compare. I let my grip off of her wrists for the selfish craving of her nails clawing at my skin, which she takes to immediately, digging into the soft flesh protecting my ribs. Her body squirms and bucks as her head falls back, mouth falling open as a loud moan escapes her accompanied by my name. "_Sara_," she groans, whimpering enough to make her sound like I've broken her for good. And with that, I'm collapsed against the mattress beside her, her arms snaking around me protectively as if I truly am her lover, as if this immoral act of intimacy had solidified an unspoken relationship we both were desperate for. But I refuse to acknowledge it, only for the knowledge that over thinking what we've just done may destroy my sanity for good if it hasn't been destroyed already.

**Tegan's POV**

Should I be worried that I've fallen into an endless abyss at the hands of my own sister? I should probably be disgusted, but I can't bring myself to care. Tonight's been full of carelessness, and I'm starting to think I'm reliving my teenage years all over again. These secret desires, the endless times I've woken from dreams of pining for my identical counterpart have all come into a spotlight and I think I'm drowning in emotions that I can't even put a name to. Let's have a joke and call it femotion, just to lighten up the situation. Lets make light of all of this, maybe even go as far as pretending it didn't happen.

Who the fuck am I kidding? I've wanted this longer than I can actually remember. That fact is obviously displayed by my arms hugging Sara closer, and for a moment I'm slightly concerned that she's just collapsed against the bed beside me without even allowing me to reciprocate the favor. At least she hasn't pushed me away, at least she's allowed herself to fall asleep in my arms.

But I can't keep myself from pressing an affectionate kiss against her cheek and mumbling a quiet, "I love you" before I allow sleep to take me.

_Please don't let me wake up in an empty bed tomorrow morning._


	3. Chapter 3: Something Tangible

**A/N: I'm cranking these chapters out. Wow. I can't say I've ever been so willing to write fanfic before in my life. I'm glad you guys are enjoying it, and if you've got anything that you'd like to see happen, feel free to leave suggestions. Thanks for all the feedback loves! Here's some more smutty feels and guilt, just because. **

**Chapter 3: Something Tangible**

**Sara's POV**

When I feel light streaming through the bedroom windows, I have to remind myself more than once that I'm not waking in Montreal. These sheets below me are unfamiliar and don't smell of my detergent, don't smell of home, don't smell of anything, really. I can feel skin against my own, though it isn't immediately recognized. It isn't until my tired eyes drift downwards to the arm draped over my bare midsection that I determine the identity of the nameless body still deep in sleep. I know that tree tattoo—I'd know it anywhere.

Tegan.

For fuck's sake, I thought last night's intimacies had been the product of some sort of drug induced, vivid nightmare. I can still remember the feeling of her tightening around my fingers, and the thought alone is cause for alarm. While she is familiar, she isn't all at once. She holds me like she's holding a lover, a girlfriend, someone that leaves knots in the pit of her stomach whenever their name plays against her ears. It only leaves me to realize our differences again—she's so terribly gentle and I'm nothing of the sort. Affection makes me slightly shifty, and I'm desperate to wiggle out of her grasp without waking her. I can't bear to deal with the repercussions of our actions. Not right now.

I manage to pry her arm from my body without causing much commotion, replacing my form with a pillow so she keeps comfortable. She's just as clingy physically as she is emotionally. Great. All I can do now is hope to some holy fucker that she hasn't much of a recollection of last night's endeavors.

I meet my reflection in the bathroom mirror with disgust and disdain. My lips still carry a hint of swelling and darkened colour, a hint of Tegan's desperate kisses against them. Hazel eyes alone tell the story of the roughest night I've had in a while, and I find myself taking note of the fact that my age no longer allows me to suffer through such nights unnoticed. With great trepidation, I turn on my heels and peer over my shoulder to assess the damage my sister has done. I can still feel her nails clawing at me, stinging so…_deliciously_. Stop it, Sara. That's disgusting. You're disgusting. I'm only left to discover that Tegan's practically ripped me apart, symmetrical lines that curve with fluid motion of desire and desperation left in hues of deep pinks and almost purples against my pale skin. As if she were searching for some tangible explanation behind all of this, I'm left with her love letters etched into me; her own something tangible for the logical twin who she knew would be questioning it all the next morning.

**Tegan's POV**

The sound of a shower running stirs me from sleep, and damn, my head is pounding like I took a few spin kicks to the head. I wonder if Sara's been practicing her martial arts on me—the thought alone has me laughing, but soon whining in misery as the shaking that overcomes my body when I'm stuck in a fit of laughter jumbles my brain around in my skull and makes the headache even more announced. Prying my eyes open, I'm left to find that the body I thought I'd still be embracing this morning has been replaced by a pillow that feels nothing like her. I'm not entirely surprised, but I'm left with a sinking feeling in my chest as the cool fabric of the pillowcase plays against the warm skin of my stomach. Maybe I was dreaming. Maybe the ecstasy and alcohol combination threw me into a realistic wet dream. I look across the room in search of signs of life on the bed across from the one I'm sprawled across—it's made up to the hotel's standards, as if it hadn't been touched or even breathed on since the maids had serviced it. That leaves me with two theories—Sara's replaced herself with a pillow and she truly did spend the night in my bed, or the maids crept in while I was in the grip of a comatose slumber and saw my naughty bits. I'm not content with either, and quite honestly, I'd rather have the maids laughing at my misfortune than come to the conclusion that Sara's left me high and dry. What a bitch. But to say that I wasn't anticipating this would be a downright lie.

I move to push the covers away, a force of habit that's engraved into mechanical function in the morning, but soon realize that there's nothing hiding my practical nakedness aside from the pillow that I've been left to cradle. I really must have been fucked last night if I was capable of passing out without shielding myself from the cold, even though Austin isn't really comparable to Vancouver on a March night. Suppose it's a childhood defense mechanism, covering myself in my most vulnerable state. I'm surprised Sara didn't even bother to cover me out of fear that someone would show unexpectedly. She's paranoid like that, but in this situation, I can't say that I blame her.

I can only assume that the shower running is her, and for a moment, I'm lost in the idea of steaming water cascading over feminine curves like a hotel cable porno. My hormones are awakening instantly, and fuck…I must still be high or maybe a little drunk, because I can't keep my mind from wandering…or my hand.

Head falling back as far as it can against the mattress beneath me, my eyes drift towards the entryway of the bathroom to be sure that Sara really is in the shower and not about to walk in on me wanking to perverted thoughts of her. I don't know what's gotten into me lately, but I'm rationalizing it all with the knowledge that a headache can be cured by an orgasm. It's enough to relinquish the guilt onto some other part of my soul that I'll deal with later.

My hand dips beneath the waistband of boxer briefs that I wish I could have escaped last night—I wanted Sara to see all of me. My need for approval hadn't been met, but I had gotten enough of what I wanted to settle. I close my eyes in hopes of capturing a more vivid image in my scattered brain, fingertips playing against my clit that's somehow still sensitive to the touch. My hips jerk upwards involuntarily, and I'm amazed at what an effect the thought of my sister alone has on me. It's immoral and vile and completely ill but the fact that it's so terribly taboo has my skin crawling with excitement and anticipation. I'm disgusted and turned on all at once, and I can't help myself.

My fingers work their way inside of me as I wish they could have inside of Sara, curling upwards to find that spot that makes my thighs quiver. I'm stuck in a loop of imagining myself fucking her and her fucking me, surprised that there isn't much of a difference between the two trains of thoughts. We are twins after all—as much as we try to separate ourselves as different people, physically, we're quite alike. Not fully, but enough.

I find myself wondering if she's doing the same thing in there, daydreaming and kicking herself for not letting me return the favor. I wonder what she tastes like, what sounds she makes when she's in the throes of the greatest orgasm of her life. I wonder what it sounds like when she screams my name, and that alone has my fingers working faster inside of me. I can feel the muscles of my stomach tensing up, my eyes rolling into the back of my head as my back arches into a touch that I'm pretending is hers. It's sickening how much I want her, how much I want my own sister. But I can't help myself. I can't.

My free hand is pressing against the lower part of my stomach, making the sensation of dangling right over the edge even stronger. I feel like screaming, but I know I can't, so instead I sink my teeth into my bottom lip, fearful for a moment that I may tear my labret jewelry straight out. But then I'm looping on the thought of how it feels to have Sara pulling at it in an attempt to tease me, and I find myself tugging at the silver ball harder than usual. This could end badly, but hell, if I get a good cum out of it, I don't know if I mind.

**Sara's POV**

I had to shower to wash the shame from myself—it's the only way I could feel less guilty about what happened last night. I scrub so hard against my fingers that I swear I've peeled a layer of skin away, but soon tell myself that it's my mind that needs such heavy cleansing. I feel nauseated, but if it's the combination of intoxicants or the immoral intimacies I shared, I can't tell the difference. My head is killing me and I feel completely drained—I was hoping that a shower would revitalize me enough for a push through the day, but I make note that I'll need a few Advil and coffee to be anything other than a zombie. I haven't heard Tegan yet, and truthfully, I'm hoping she'll sleep the day away. There's also a part of me hoping that she doesn't remember, but to deny the fact that there's a part of me hoping that she doesn't would be fibbing.

I emerge from the shower in a cloud of steam, thankful that it's at least soothed my headache enough to leave me feeling less dizzy. The towels here are comforting and soft, and for a second I wonder if it's possible that I'm still vaguely feeling the effects of the ecstasy…maybe an afterglow. I don't know.

I leave the shower running in hopes of continuously knocking the intensity of my hangover down a few pegs with the use of steam, taking the time to brush my teeth and apply lotion. I don't believe there's been an official plan made for today, it's one of our only days off on this tour and I can't believe I'm saying this, but I wish I could just crawl back into bed and sleep until tomorrow.

Bare feet padding against the tiles of the floor, I make my way towards the entryway in hopes of gathering fresh clothes to step into. Hugging the towel to my chest tightly to avoid a slip in the off chance that my sister's awake, I practically choke on air when I stop dead in my tracks in the doorway, my eyes falling upon Tegan's writhing body. She's awake, alright—and getting off, that fucking pervert. And as much as I want to say something to make her feel disgusted with herself, I can't tear my eyes away. She's squirming so desperately, trying harder than ever to stay silent. As much as I wish I could deny it, my body doesn't refrain from responding to the sight in front of me, sending immediate heat to start between my legs and that familiar aching that I wish so desperately would disappear. The way her hand has now found the sheets beneath her to cling to make it even harder to tear my eyes away, anticipating her orgasm almost as much as she is. I want to encourage her. I want to tell her to cum. I want her to say my name again…and again and again and again. I'm waiting on bated breath to see her fall to pieces before me. C'mon, Tegan.

There. Her whole body went from tense as ever to limp in a matter of seconds, a growl like groan escaping her before she falls flat against the mattress, panting and attempting to regain steady breathing. I reach for the clothes sitting on top of the luggage outside the door, snatching them away before she can even notice my presence, and when I move to shut the shower off, I wonder if I need to step into another one before dressing; a cold one this time.


	4. Chapter 4: Out of Reach

**A/N: Okay, chapter four was cranked out on little sleep so forgive me if it's not quite as entertaining as you were hoping it would be! As I've mentioned, your feedback is so, so appreciated and you're all so lovely! x**

**Chapter 4: Out of Reach**

**Tegan's POV**

We haven't spoken much at all today; Sara's put the blame of her silence on a nasty hangover and I suppose I should do the same. Sunglasses protect both of our eyes from the ungodly amount of sunshine here in Austin mid-March, though they also protect us from making uncomfortable eye contact knowingly. I've been stealing glances all afternoon, but she's far too busy staring into her food that she's barely touched to notice. If this is meant to make me feel guilty, it sure as hell is doing the trick. I can't tell if she's giving me the cold shoulder or merely at a loss for words. Usually, I'm overthinking. But I don't think today is one of those situations. We're captured in an orb of uncomfortable and inescapable silence, plagued upon us by hell itself as a consequence of our sins. I sound like a bible banger right now. What the fuck did that fairy girl give me?

If I've ever found my soul in the pits of my drink, I think now would be the most prominent of times. I can see my reflection obscurely in the glass, staring back at me with a look of disapproval. What? Now I'm even being scolded by myself? Can't I just have a fucking moment of peace? This silence is becoming unbearable. Please, for the love of fucking God, say something, Sar. Anything. Tell me you hate me, for all I care. Just speak up.

As if through some telepathic communication twins are thought to share, Sara's clearing her throat before reaching for her sunglasses, removing them and setting them beside her on the table. She doesn't meet my eager gaze—instead, she stares off into the distance with furrowed brows and tired eyes squinting as sunlight falls upon them, snaking a tongue over dry lips that are still slightly darkened in colour from my needy kisses. Desperate for return to routine, I rub at the nape of my neck and utter the first thing that comes to mind. "H-How's your food?"

Smooth, you fucking idiot, trip over the first goddamn words that you've said to her all day. That won't make her feel any less uncomfortable. Sara doesn't bother to even send a glance in my direction as she shrugs her shoulders that are surely heavy beneath burden, shaking her head as she mumbles, "I don't know, I haven't had a bite yet."

I know that look on her face, that tone in her voice, that body language in general that screams "leave me be". She's distancing herself, and seeing that we've spent the last thirty two years together, I know that the smallest thing will trip her cord and trigger an explosion. I'm tiptoeing across the only thin ice left in Austin that will surely cave beneath my weight. But being needy and clingy 'ol Tegan, here I am continuing to poke and prod at every one of her buttons at once in hopes of getting something out of her. What exactly? Well, your guess is as good as mine.

"Maybe you should have some," I suggest, but it comes out sounding much more patronizing than I intended. Who the fuck am I kidding, I didn't intend for it to be patronizing in the slightest. I just want her to eat. I want her to be well. I want her to smile that little smile that I have yet to see today.

She's taken to pinching the bridge of her nose, as if doing such a thing will relieve the pressure building behind her forehead. The bags beneath her eyes appear the same colour as bruises, serving the same purpose undoubtedly. Bruises to the ego when onlookers take notice of how awful she looks, when she has to cover them with makeup that she rarely wears. Bruises that perhaps she wishes were honest bruises rather than physical signs left behind by a night of comfortless sleep. Bruises left in the open that force her to become a moving target for those who can't keep a fucking comment to themselves, for those who absolutely must kick her while she's down. And now I'm feeling furious over the mere idea that those bruise coloured bags beneath her eyes are wounds at the gates of her soul left by my curious treading that allowed me too close. I'm such a fucking idiot and I wish I could scream it from the rooftops.

**Sara's POV**

Tegan's worried about my health since the day she got it into her head that I'm a fragile being in need of constant assistance. It drives me fucking batshit crazy when she tells me to eat—in fact, it's one of her worst habits that almost always leaves me clawing at the palms of my hands to keep from socking her. I'm not hungry. On the contrary, I feel a second wave of nausea bubbling in my gut and threatening to keep me bedded for the rest of today. I've ordered an iced tea and a bowl of soup so Tegan would leave me alone, but truly I have no desire to eat it. I just want the tea for the caffeine and the distraction.

She's trying to get me to speak up; I know how her game works. She has a fondness for starting a conversation about nothing in particular, in which she very carefully hands over control of the topic to whoever she's conversing with in hopes of allowing them to bring up a sore subject upon their own accord. She's so manipulative in that way—sneaky, even. But my favourite part is that she truly has no idea that she's doing it, and if she does, she's damn good at hiding it.

"I'm not hungry," I finally say in the flattest tone my voice can manage, taking in a deep breath as a breeze comes tumbling through. I wish it were warm enough to submerge myself in the ocean right about now, but 70 degrees is still chilly enough to have me wrapped in a sweater. I can blame my lack of warmth on low blood pressure which is likely out of whack thanks to our stimulant x depressant combination the night before, though Tegan doesn't seem to have a problem with wandering beneath the rays of the warm Texas sun in a sleeveless shirt. Seeing the look she's cast upon me, I take to mixing the soup in my bowl absentmindedly with a spoon. The more I turn it, the more my stomach churns in response. If I didn't know any better, I may be willing to fear being pregnant. I wonder if this is what morning sickness feels like—guilt and shame and more guilt with a bit of dizziness to top it off.

"Just take a few bites, would ya?" she asks, frustration rising in her voice as she watches me fiddle with my lunch that I never intended on eating in the first place. I cannot stand when she tries to baby me—it's been a pet peeve of mine for as long as I can remember. As if eight minutes truly gives her some sort of advantage.

Lack of sleep mixed with excruciating nausea is enough to get my blood boiling faster than usual, leaving my temper more difficult to get a grip on. Shooting daggers with my gaze, I finally turn to her. "I'm not fucking hungry," I growl, pushing the soup away as if the sight alone is cause for motion sickness on land. "Just leave me alone, alright? I just want to finish my tea and go back to the hotel."

**Tegan's POV**

I've tripped a nerve. As if I couldn't make this situation anymore awkward, somehow I've managed to do so without intending to. The snap in Sara's voice has foreign eyes surrounding us, and quite frankly, its cause for anxiety to begin its descent upon me in full force. I'm overwhelmed, I'm tired, I'm drained—there isn't much that can be done about it. I know Sara's feeling quite similar if not worse, merely for the fact that I can see it in her eyes. She looks like she's about to fucking hurl everywhere and I've gone from tiptoeing on thin ice to scurrying across hot coals. If the situation weren't so tense, surely I'd make a joke to lighten the tension that's thick enough to be cut. But I know all too well that if I even dare to attempt a joke, Sara will be reaching for the steak knife beside her and taking it from one end of my throat to the other. So I shut up momentarily and take to finishing my salad, hoping that she'll simmer down in the process.

**Sara's POV**

We're back in the hotel room now. Tegan managed to shut up long enough to finish her lunch and leave me be for a moment or two. Housekeeping came along while we were out, leaving the room meticulously organized. It triggers my need to unpack and repack my luggage, which I do with headphones blocking out the sound of Tegan's voice. In the jumbled process of scurrying from set to set at SXSW, items of her clothing have managed to mix in with mine, leaving me even more frustrated than before. I make a mental note to myself that laundry needs to be done on our time off, separating clean from dirty in two separate piles. I make a third for Tegan's clothes, though don't bother to keep them tidy, instead tossing them aside haphazardly unless they're items that I too enjoy wearing, such as her "We Are You" shirt from Self Evident Truths. As I continue sorting, I've made it habit to bring each piece of clothing to my face, inhaling through my nose to capture a scent. This helps me determine what pile to add to, though I can't help but linger longer on items of Tegan's clothing. The smell of her detergent isn't the same as mine, and thus smells oddly foreign in comparison to what I'm used to. It's sweeter; the fabric is softer and carries the faintest hint of her skin. Glancing over at Tegan who has taken it upon herself to nap the rest of the afternoon away on the bed opposite mine, I make sure she isn't looking before tucking her favourite shirt beneath my pillow for safe keeping.

**Tegan's POV**

Sara thinks I'm sleeping, but I can hear her sorting through clothes like a junkie who hasn't slept in days in search of a baggie they've lost in a pair of dirty pants. I know she's struggling to keep her mind occupied—I too should be occupying my thoughts with anything but her, though unfortunately it takes a lot more than sorting clean and dirty laundry to distract me. Eyes closed, my sense of hearing picks up sounds that would usually go unnoticed, such as the slightly longer intakes of breath that Sara's working through, my assumption being that she's sniffing out two separate piles. She's taken to humming to herself, a tic of sorts that keeps her from fidgeting beyond repair. I wish I could occupy the space beside her—the beds are plenty big enough for two, maybe even three people. _We don't have to talk,_ I wish I could say. _We don't have to do anything. You don't even have to look at me. I just want to feel your energy radiating against me._

I've come to accept the fact that I'm the clingy twin. I've come to accept the fact that my favourite part of life on the road is that it's Sara and I for months on end in such close quarters that it's likely to drive us both off our rockers. I've come to accept that when it comes time to return to Vancouver and Sara to Montreal, the void that is momentarily filled will be empty once again until another tour opportunity comes along. And while our paths won't deviate until late September, the thought is still heavy on my mind. Being without Sara is being without a part of me, and I can only wish that she felt the same way in my absence. Who knows, perhaps she does. But she'd never will herself to admit such a thing aloud. She's not the type to discuss her feelings openly—heart to hearts make her shift uncomfortably as if her skin is not her own. I've become accustomed to the fact, but that doesn't necessarily mean that I'm left unfazed. Hell, I'm fazed by everything. I'm sensitive and emotional while Sara is logical, rational, and constantly locked into a state of cool composure. We balance each other, that much cannot be denied.

I find myself lying on my side, stealing glimpses of my sister while she's busied sorting laundry. Each time she brings an item of my clothing to her nose, it seems she lingers longer than she does with those that belong to her. I won't allow myself to dwell on the thought, though—I'm likely still feeling hazy from a lack of proper sleep.

It doesn't hurt to toy with the thought as I drift off, though. At least in my dreams I can pretend that the relentless pining is mutual.


	5. Chapter 5: In the Company of Misery

**A/N: Okay my dears, have some angst for this installment! Again, thank you all for your lovely feedback and of course more is always appreciated-lets me know that you're all still willingly following! x**

**Chapter 5:In the Company of Misery**

**Tegan's POV**

Shit, I must've fallen asleep. Stirring beneath pillow top comforters, I bring the heels of my palms to rub the sleep from my eyes, turning towards the window only to realize that the sunlight my skin is craving has since been engulfed by darkness, artificial light offering the only illumination in sight. Though my back is to Sara, I can hear quiet whispering and giggling as if there's someone other than my sister in the room. Brow furrowed in confusion, I turn to face the sound only to allow my gaze to fall upon Sara and Stacy cuddled up with two glasses of wine. If my stomach wasn't churning before I fell asleep, it sure as hell is churning now, flames of jealousy swallowing my entire being whole. They don't even seem to notice that I've come out of my slumber, perhaps due to the fact that they've finished off a full bottle of merlot despite Sara spending the better half of today throwing fits over how terrible last night had turned out to be and how awful it had left her feeling. I'm left to stew in my bitter discomfort until Stacy realizes that I'm practically boring holes through her with my eyes, immediately offering me a slight smile and a flutter of her fingers as a polite gesture, though I can tell that there's a flush of embarrassment taking to her cheeks. "Oh, we didn't wake you up did we, Tee?" she asks. The sound of her voice alone is enough to leave me wanting to wring her neck, my nails clawing into clammy palms to keep calm. Sara's simply leaning around Stacy to catch my gaze with her own blank stare, and for a moment I wonder if she's next in line to have her neck wrung out like a wet towel.

"No, you didn't," I respond rather flatly, pushing myself into an upright position before allowing my legs to dangle over the edge of the mattress. A hand easing through the disheveled curls atop my head, I can only listen to hushed giggling a moment longer before speaking up. "Hey Stacy?" I allow her name to roll from my tongue with a slight lift at the end, as if asking a question though attempting to keep from being a bother. Apparently my snide mocking goes undetected, because Stacy's eyebrows perk up as if responding silently while sipping from her glass. I take this as an invitation to continue, furrowing my brow and twisting my facial expression just enough to make it seem as if I truly don't mean to intrude. But oh, I do. "I really don't mean to be a bitch…but I was just wondering if I could talk to Sara alone for a minute. I fell asleep on her in the middle of a conversation earlier and I don't wanna leave it hanging, y'know?"

Sara's blank stare is becoming one laced with voiceless death threats as Stacy sets her glass down, hand to her chest as she nods so quickly that I wonder if her bobble head may tumble straight from her shoulders. It's one of those "oh, absolutely, go right ahead!" nods of approval as she swallows the sip she had taken in a moment ago, pushing herself to unsteady feet before pressing a kiss against the top of my sister's head. If the jealous rage didn't have me fuming before, it certainly does now.

"Yeah, of course, Tee. I didn't mean to interrupt anything, Sara just—"

But before Stacy can even finish her sentence, Sara's speaking up, interrupting while a possessive grip finds her girlfriend's wrist. "No, Stace. We finished our talk earlier. Tegan's just being pissy."

The slight slurring mixed with Sara's lisp is enough to make me want to go ham on her stupid face, but I use every bit of self-restraint that I can muster, keeping myself seated as my nails sink deeper into palms that are only becoming clammier by the second. Stacy looks uncomfortably confused now, shifting her weight from one foot to the other as she looks to Sara for guidance. She doesn't know whether she should be staying or going, and while normally I'm quite the accommodating hostess, I want nothing more than to shove her through the doorway so I can ream my sister in private. The look in my eyes alone must tell Sara that her bullshit isn't going to be tolerated, because her hold on Stacy's wrist eventually loosens and she nods, giving her unspoken approval to leave. "I'll just be a minute, and then I'll come by your room."

It's been a rule set into stone since the very beginning of our touring days—an agreement that under no circumstances whatsoever are partners or lovers allowed in the rooms that we share. Originally intended for the mere purpose of privacy, my own jealousy is backing that rule even more lately, glad that I have it to throw in Sara's face if she isn't willing to oblige at any given time. I'm left to watch Stacy wander out in confusion and drunkenness alike as Sara lets out an exasperated sigh, crossing one leg over the other a moment before setting her glass beside the one that her girlfriend had been drinking from. She looks so incredibly bothered, as if a queen on her pedestal has been forced to give attention to a peasant at her feet. That alone makes me furious, and I wonder for a moment if my ears have visible steam coming from them like the cartoons we so often watched together side by side as children. She must be truly intoxicated, only for the knowledge that sober, she'd never shrug me off so easily, knowing that I could absolutely pulverize her into a fucking pulp if I so pleased.

Pushing myself to my feet, I span the small space between our beds to stand in front of my sister, giving her the hardest stare I've ever given in my lifetime. She's trying not to look at me, eyes identical to my own searching out an escape. But there's nothing interesting in this fucking room, and she knows it. Eventually, she looks to me before a disgruntled, "What?" leaves her lips, and that's all the cause I need to grab her by her goddamn shirt collar and lift her from the mattress, slamming her back against the wall with as much fury as I can gather.

**Sara's POV**

I've never had the wind knocked out of me quite like now—I feel as if the ribs designed to protect my fragile lungs are giving in, puncturing my only source of steady air as my body collides with the wall. I hate that Tegan's so much stronger than I am physically; I have no chance in hell against her in this situation. The alcohol I've consumed while she was asleep has settled too comfortably in my bloodstream, leaving me at a loss for words, as well. I may as well be defenseless, a field mouse pinned at the mercy of a feral cat.

_I hate you, Tegan. I hate you so much._ Words I'm desperate to say if only I had the liquid courage to utter them within such close proximities to her face. But no amount of booze could ever prepare me for such a terrible lie. _I don't hate you at all. I love you more than I wish I did. I wish I could hate you, I wish I could hate you, I wish I could hate you…_

**Tegan's POV**

Sara looks like a fucking deer in headlights, eyes wider than I ever believed she could open them, and for a moment I wonder if she's gone frozen out of fear or shock. My hands so close to her neck and I'm still tempted to wring it until she's passed out on the floor, but that's only my anger getting the best of me. I'd never hurt her, despite the fact that these moments happen all too often in my mind. Before I can even have a second of thought, the words are drooling from my mouth like vomit and I can't keep them from coming up and out. "Fuck you; you know that we had a fucking agreement about bringing girls in here. No Lindsey, No Stacy, nofuckingbody. Do you hear me?"

"Shut the fuck up, Tegan. You know if LB wasn't off fucking someone else right now she'd be in this room faster than you can snap your fingers."

Sara's words are intended to take a stab at my frail heart, but they do nothing more than add fuel to the fire that is already out of my control. I can feel my eyes bug out like no other as my grip tightens on her shirt, pulling her to closer only to slam her against the wall harder than before. "What?! What the fuck did you say, you cunt?"

Truthfully, I'm not jealous at her attempt to have me imagine Lindsey off dicking around with someone else. It's the mere fact that she's done so in hopes of hurting me that has me fuming. A smug smirk tugs at the corner of lips stained with wine and God, I've never wanted to kiss and smack the daylight out of someone simultaneously so terribly in my life. The smell of alcohol is heavy on her breath, luring me into bad decisions that _she'll_ regret in the morning. I'd never regret it. I'd never regret her. Not even if she were the physical manifestation of all things inappropriate and immoral. But isn't that what she is to me to begin with?

"I said that your girlfriend is off blowing some guitarist in a shitty band, I'm sure."

Sara's voice snaps me from my thoughts, reiterating the fact that I'm moments from ripping her apart. While I may be in a difficult battle with heart and mind, Lindsey is dear to me, and regardless of the fact that I've likely ruined my entire relationship with her over an intoxicated fuck with my identical counterpart, she will always have a piece of me to keep. Sara's jabbing at my heart and sneaking past my guarded walls now, and for the first time in a while I can feel the stinging of welling tears in my eyes over mere frustration. I'm so angry that I can't even see straight, and Sara's chosen the wrong time to push my buttons. Despite the fact that she's been drinking, I can't keep myself from throwing her to the ground and pouncing her, taking a blind swing at her until my fist collides with her face. There's no controlling my fury now, hands taking the now wrinkled collar in a death grip once more as I jumble my twin like a fucking ragdoll, the back of her head meeting with the floor over and over and over again as I shake her. "Shut your fucking mouth, you little bitch! Shut the fuck up!" I practically scream, my face growing a deeper shade of red with each passing second. Defensively, her hands move to catch my neck, the strongest grip she can manage tightening around my passageway.

"Get the fuck off of me!" she manages to blurt out, cutting off my oxygen just enough to shove me off of her and scramble to her feet. As soon as I manage to do the same, I'm only just steadying my footing when she shoves me back onto the bed, mounting my waist as she did the night before but with a completely different intention. Fingers about my neck like a constrictor about its prey, I can see fire equivalent to mine burning in Sara's eyes, though her face remains totally expressionless. "Last night never fucking happened. I don't want to talk about it and if you so much as hint at it, I'll deny it until my last fucking breath." Her words cut into me more than her ruthless slander about Lindsey, hot tears slipping from my eyes and staining the wrinkled sheets beneath me. I take them to heart, take them as "you mean nothing to me, you are nothing to me". For a moment I find myself hoping that she's drunk enough to misgauge her strength and drain the life straight from me, but that thought is quickly replaced with my unsurpassable desire to prove her wrong. "Do you understand?"

I nod, if only for the knowledge that upon agreement she'll let go, which she does after another moment of potentially holding my life in her hands. She's always been fucked up like that, getting some sort of kick out of dominance. She'd never hurt me enough to kill me sober, but with the drastic personality change that comes with drunken Sara, anything's possible.

Pushing myself to my feet as she does the same, I watch silently as she makes an effort to smooth the wrinkles my grip left in her collar. There's a patch of skin darker than the others just at her cheekbone, and immediately I feel a sinking shame in the pit of my stomach after realizing that I've etched my jealousy into her. Sara looks to me with a wordless warning before turning towards the door, to which I respond mechanically, reaching out and clamping onto her arm in attempts of keeping her here. Before she can argue, I'm pulling her in, our lips meeting desperately for the connection I've been craving. But instead of being graced with the sensation of romantic return, I'm met with the roughness of possessive, drunk kisses before being shoved away, a deadly glare shooting down my eyes pleading for her company. "Sara—" I try to speak up, but before I can say much more, her hand collides with the flushed flesh of my cheek and she's out the door, disappearing up the hallway towards Stacy's room and leaving me to wallow in my own misery alone.


	6. Chapter 6: Pulled Under an Ocean Tide

**A/N: This took so much pushing through writers block to finish, so I apologize for both leaving you without reading material for a day or two and presenting you with...not my best work. But as usual, I thank you all so much for keeping up with the story and leaving your comments and reviews, it means so much to me. x I may need a day or two to think out whats going to happen next...but if you have any particular direction you'd like to see the story go, feel free to leave a message in my inbox. :) **

**Chapter 6: Pulled Under an Ocean Tide**

**Sara's POV**

It's just after 3:30 AM and I couldn't stomach the idea of spending the night in Stacy's room. She knows better than most that my desire for an empty bed is one that I can rarely fulfill, and so she leaves me with a final kiss that tastes of stale alcohol before I slink up the hall to occupy the other half of the room I'm sharing with Tegan for the rest of the night. I'm hoping that by now my sister has been pulled beneath the lull of slumber, though I hold this hope with bated breath, knowing she all too often stirs from sleep in the middle of the night to scribble down thoughts that plague her in twilight hours.

Slipping the key card into our door, the light flashes green and allows me entry before I attempt to enter as stealthily as possible, my dark clothing serving as camouflage against the darkness. Excess light seeping in from the hallway frames me and I become a silhouette, a nameless entity in passing. _Please let Tegan be asleep_, I almost pray as I allow the door to close behind me, my eyes accommodating to the lack of light. It's never been so dark in our room before, and I can't help but wonder for a moment in the unsettling silence if Tegan too has fled to the comfort of another's arms for the night. But before my train of thought is even capable of straying, it's derailed by the sudden feeling of hands flat against my shoulders, shoving me backwards into the wall. My instinct has me swinging blindly, but my wrists are captured by a strong grip keeping me from making contact with my…attacker? I can feel beats skipping in the rhythm of my heart, some stronger than others to make up for lost blood supply. Their face nearing mine, I can inhale just enough to capture a spiraling scent of heavy booze and cigarettes before a husky yet familiar voice is slurring against my ear coaxingly. "Why'd you leave?" it purrs, and the realization that this is Tegan sets into stone. "I just wanted to talk…"

The uncomfortable shifting in my stomach is matched only by the fact that when I move to reach for the nearby light switch, Tegan's grip tightens around my bony wrist. "Shhh," she hums, and I can almost feel the deviously intoxicated smirk playing against a corner of her lips. For the first time in years I regret leaving her to go about my own agenda, and now I can't shake the sinking feeling that I'm about to pay for it.

"Tegan, let me turn the light on," I say calmly, though the fact that my voice trembles slightly doesn't go unnoticed. My eyes adjusting to the darkness, I can outline features almost identical to my own through shadows. They're worn and sedated, her eyes barely capable of opening. She must have spent the majority of her night at the bar downstairs, picking up with stupid girls looking to become internet famous over a few drinks with Tegan Quin.

"I don't want the light on," she slurs, pushing my wrists above my head clumsily before shifting her body weight forward, pinning me between her and the wall. The warmth of her breath plays teasingly against my earlobe, and for a fleeing moment I wish she wasn't as wasted as she is, knowing not to take advantage of another person who is at a mental and physical (though momentary) disadvantage. I internally scold myself for the thought before turning my attention back to her just as she begins leaning even closer until our lips are mere centimeters apart. "Wh-…why…why don't you want me, Sasa?" Tegan's tripping over words like a stumbling drunk, adding insult to injury with the use of my childhood nickname that I swear she only uses to irk me. I'm growing more and more uncomfortable by the second, wishing that she'd let up her hold and allow me to sit down in attempts to have a proper conversation like the adults that we are. She may not be acting like it, but I have to remind myself that Tegan too is nearing thirty three years on this planet—though right now she reminds me of a lovesick teenage boy desperate for an answer as to why his honey left his heart in pieces at his feet.

"You're my fucking sister," I growl coldly before taking another try at freeing myself, throwing my fists in different directions to no avail. Sighing, I give up for the moment and stare straight into the tired eyes before me, noting their sadness through the dark haze surrounding us. She looks so pathetic, honey coloured orbs glazed over with confusion and puppy like desperation.

"But I loove you," she continues, her voice growing whiny as if her clingy personality was an unknown factor to me. "I love you like…I love you like the f-fans that…that throw their clothes at you on stage." Her attempt at being romantic (if it can even be regarded as such) is failing miserably under the heaviness of intoxication, and I can't keep myself from snorting before rolling my eyes. She's so stupid, and equally as toxic.

**Tegan's POV**

I love you, Sara. Please tell me you love me. I need you like…fuck, what's that song the kids are listening to these days while hunched over their angst ridden hearts? I need your love like a boy needs his mother's side? That sounds right. Yeah, the song about baby scars…though you've left me with scars much larger than small nicks to the skin. Wounds. Open wounds. Wounds that refuse to heal without the confirmation I desperately seek. Please, Sar. Just tell me that you love me. Stop denying this. Stop denying me.

I'm so tempted to force it out of her. The alcohol I downed in hopes of drowning myself leaves me grounded by unsteady footing, but even inebriated I'm stronger than Sara will ever be. I'm a whirlwind of decisions inappropriate and immoral, just as she is the physical manifestation of such decisions. I want—no, need her—to myself. She is not Stacy's. She is nobody's but my own. My other half that drifted in utero only to grow too fond of separation upon the moment of our arrival on this earth. I became we—two separate beings in possession of one soul that was hastily split between us, leaving the first one out with torn inseams that were frayed beyond repair. Only the return of its other half—the half in the possession of a spirit desperate for infinite detachment—would mend such deeply seeded wounds. She holds the power to fix me, but the question yearning to trickle from my lips is _will she_?

_Will you fix me, Sara?_

**Sara's POV**

I don't know when or why, but somewhere between the fire lit stares through the darkness, Tegan's lips have found a place against my own like waves crashing to shore in search of something to lure in; another body to drown with to avoid drowning alone. There's a sickening sweetness between us, the taste of whiskey on her lips mixing with that of stale wine on my own. _Fight it, Sara. Fight it, fight this, fight her. Don't you dare give in. Push her out and push her away. Forever. There is no such thing as sisterly love between you two anymore—that line has been infinitely surpassed. You've ascended a ladder and the rungs crumbled beneath your feet—there's no way to descend now. Either you take the plunge willingly or fall. Make your decision._

Tegan's lips, no matter how desperate, are rose petals against my own that act like sponges, eagerly taking in her misery like a relapsing addict. God, I don't want this. I'm being swallowed whole by the pull of the ocean, by the fear of stigma as it sinks its fangs into my flesh. But push becomes pull as I allow myself to be dragged under, taking the fabric of her shirt in my grip so tight that I wonder if my fingers could tear straight through, giving in for only a moment before logic settles in with a rough slap to the face that has me right back to shoving Tegan away. Breathless, I reach for the light switch as she staggers backwards, illuminating the room with fluorescent light. My practical carbon copy stands frozen in her shoes, blindsided and weighed down by her own carnal cravings becoming impossible to overcome under the intoxication of multiple glasses of whiskey on the rocks.

"Fucking stop this, Tegan!" I scream at her, stepping forward if only to get a bit of force behind the shove that I deal her. I'm so tired and ridden with nameless emotion that I can't keep myself from breaking down in her presence, continuously forcing her to stumble backwards with each push from my hands against her swaying body that is struggling to keep its balance. "Stop fucking doing this to me, goddamnit!"

I wonder for a moment if the bitterness that I feel towards my twin is making itself known physically, the taste resonating on my tongue like unsweetened chocolate as I continue to watch her fumble clumsily on drunken feet until her back hits the opposite wall. Hands slamming flat against it on either side of her head that I'm sure is spinning by now, I'm so close that I can once again feel Tegan's breathing playing against my skin. It's heavier now, though somehow manages to be shallow all at once. They aren't deep breaths of anticipation, ones that prepare you for a kiss you've been anxiously awaiting—no, they're breaths caught in the grip of your ribs, small intakes of air that make your palms go clammy with each passing second. She's waiting for something; though even in her intoxicated state isn't stupid enough to believe that it's a display of affection. "I am not your fucking lover! I never was and I never fucking will be!" Tegan tries to speak up, but the fire in my gut has me pushing through any attempts of interruption with an infuriated vengeance. My hand moves from the wall to clasp her face, chin framed between my thumb and index finger like a mother scolding a child for wrong doing, squeezing her flushed cheeks in hopes of inflicting some sort of physical discomfort. "For the last fucking time, do you understand me?"

It's only after a moment of boring holes into my sister that I notice the tears trickling from her glazed over eyes, leaving subtle yet stinging kisses against my hand that still holds her face. She's trembling, cowering even, before she simply offers a meek nod in response, small sniffles serving as a last attempt at a floodgate. She's trying so hard to keep herself from crumbling, but as my expression softens in concern of her general wellbeing, Tegan lets out the most heart wrenching sound I've ever heard before squeezing her eyes shut, sliding down to the floor and reeling her legs to her chest, face buried in knobby knees. I'm left to do nothing more than look on as a frame I believed to be sturdy and strong crumbles at my feet, trembling like a leaf in August wind. A wave of regret yanks me under, and within a moment's notice I too have found a place on the floor, kneeling before the sister who I've crushed beneath the weight of heavy insult. I'm furious with her for reasons I simply cannot voice for the mere reason of my own lack of understanding, reckless tugging at the strings of my heart threatening to force me into a self-destruct. I've surpassed my breaking point, drowning in the tide of a hungry ocean.

**Tegan's POV**

I want to shut this out—shut out her voice that's shrill with contempt, shut out this dim room that refuses to assist in my disappearing act, shut out the aching in my heart that does nothing but remind me that my soul longing for its other half will never have the reunion it's been hoping for. You've made a point to mention multiple times that you feel incapable of connecting beyond a certain level for the mere fact that you've found your soul mate in me, Sara. I've seen you at your darkest; I've held the weight of the world in addition to every one of your burdens against my weakening shoulders just to part your rain cloud enough for a moment of sunlight. I've been the safety net that's softened the blow of failure each time you've stumbled. I've kissed the ground you walk on in your moments of self-deprecation to prove that you're deserving of the pedestal you've been gifted. If I could take on your pain, your sorrow, your confusion…if I could take on your demons in exchange for every one of my saviours, I would do it without complaint. It's an expression of appreciation at best when a person says to another, "I would die for you". But oh, to the extent my love has carried me in making such a statement painfully true when it comes to you.

I would take my final breath willingly if it meant leaving you with a smile I rarely see.

**Sara's POV**

My arms have taken Tegan into their embrace, nurturing her broken parts to the best of their ability. I could never attempt to re-mend her, as my trembling hands ridden with guilt would leave her more wounded than before. She fights me, pulling away with each try at reeling her closer. I give up upon realization of a different approach, hands taking to the sides of her head to bring her gaze to meet mine. "Tegan," I say softly, forcing myself to fight through the blow of watching her go to ruins in my grasp. "We're so fucked up," I continue, eyelids I hoped would serve as proper floodgates failing me miserably. "What the hell are we doing, Tee? What the hell are we doing?"

Tegan brings her eyes up only enough to note that I too am becoming a crumbling wall of defense, and in a moment's notice I'm crying harder than I have in years, forehead against my sister's as I struggle to voice the war raging within the confines of my hollow heart. "I try so hard to fight you and it never gets any easier," I admit weakly, tearing myself to shreds over the idea of bearing my skeletons for her to sort through. Tegan simply sits in silence, swollen eyes looking on as her hands hold my sides reassuringly. Even now in her weakest moment and me in my own, she's more concerned with returning me unscathed to a throne she's bestowed upon me. A veil of quiet is draped over us, the only noises capable of surpassing it being the sniffling and shaking breaths that come along with emotional run over. "Tell me you love me," she eventually mumbles, lips pressed together in a sad smile while a glimmer of hope lingers in her eyes. "Please, Sara."

With every ounce of regret rattling my bones, I shake my head before pushing myself away from the one person I'll ever love without doubt, my logic searching for composure. "I do," I start, another flood threatening to stain my cheeks. "...But I can't."

_Push her out and push her away. Forever._


	7. Chapter 7: You Breathe In I Breathe Out

**A/N: And now for ~the feels~...Let me know what you guys think of this one. I wasn't really sure if this was the direction I wanted it to go in at first, but the heart wants what the heart wants!**

**Also, I'm too tired to proof read. Excuse any silly mistakes.**

**Chapter 7: I Breathe In When You Breathe Out**

**Tegan's POV**

I've spent the morning tucking clean laundry mixed with dirty laundry into a suitcase waiting to burst, refusing to acknowledge Sara's presence since our encounter the night before. She's nestled into a padded chair on the balcony, curled up with her nose buried in a book and her back facing the sliding glass door that separates us. It's an eerie feeling knowing that a physical barrier is detaching us from one another, though the barrier itself is one that would seem invisible to the untrained eye. I wonder for a moment what sort of stress may be alleviated from my heavy heart if I took the risk of storming over and using all of my might to smash that glass with whatever happened to be in reach, but in a fit of spiraling depression that only continues to pull me under with each passing second that I'm in Sara's presence, I've given up on the chase. Sure, it's a widely popular belief that twins share the same wavelength. But with something so terribly complicated as the situation that we find ourselves in now, I've managed to debunk that argument with tangible evidence. Easing the zipper of my luggage closed, I lug its surprising weight onto the ground before giving myself one last look in the mirror. I look as if I haven't caught a restful sleep in days, but in all honesty I don't know that I should expect myself to look any better than hell. I've just had my heart broken, after all, and I'm leaving a piece behind while I retreat to my home base in hopes of nursing my own wounds back to health to the best of my abilities.

**Sara's POV**

The sun is only growing brighter as the time passes outside, and while I truly want to avoid interaction with my sister at all costs, I've left my sunglasses on the nightstand beside my bed and figure it's better to get up and fetch them now while she's busy reorganizing her suitcase. Sliding the glass door aside, I set foot in the room only to be greeted by a sadness hanging in the air that I can't quite explain. Tegan turns at the sound of my footsteps, a sad and half assed smile tugging at the corner of her lips, just barely enough to be recognized as a smile. The bags beneath her eyes make her look something like the walking dead, and my guilty conscience only reminds me that I'm likely the cause of her sleepless nights lately.

"I'm just leaving, so…" she starts quietly, her voice meek and reminiscent of a situation ridden with awkward last words, as if this were a home we shared under the same name and were now divorcing to return to previous engagements as if our paths had never crossed to begin with. I don't understand.

"Oh," I reply, the tension growing heavier by the second and for a moment I wonder if it's contributing to the humidity in the air that's constricting about my throat. "…Where're you off to?"

Lifting the handle of her suitcase, she shrugs a zip up sweatshirt over her shoulders and pushes nimble fingers through a mess of hair she hasn't bothered to clean up. "Home. To Vancouver."

Her answer catches me completely off guard, and I can't help but wonder if she's simply joking around. It isn't unlike Tegan to joke, after all. But the look on her face is one of stoic indifference, seriousness attempting to cover up the pain her mangled heartstrings have caused her.

"…_Vancouver_?" I repeat, confusion and disbelief radiating throughout the air as it carries in the sound of my voice. "What do you mean Vancouver?"

I search her face for traces of playfulness, a smile she's struggling to keep under wraps before bursting into laughter, but no sign ever comes. She simply slips the straps of her backpack over her shoulders before nodding, brows raised slightly as if annoyed. Had she told me this and I hadn't been listening? Half asleep, perhaps? I've been tuning her out all morning; it wouldn't surprise me in the slightest had I missed some announcement she had made in hopes of capturing my attention.

"…I mean I'm going home for a few days," she says with eerie calmness, though I can tell the calm in her voice is the product of giving up. "We don't have another show until the 10th so why not take the time off to go home and be in my own space while I can?"

I'm speechless. Slack jawed, I gawk at her as if she's presented me with the most unbelievable news to ever hit my ears, and while it isn't the most unbelievable, it's certainly up there. Tegan's spent the better half of our lives clinging to me as if we were Siamese twins, and her sudden craving for separation is difficult to understand. I can tell she's uncomfortable by the silence lingering between us, as her honey coloured eyes are glancing left to right in hopes of raking her brain for a final thing to conclude the conversation with. Apparently unable to do so, she nods before taking a step backwards towards the door. "I'll pay off the room and you can just stay with Stacy," she continues. "So um…" uncomfortably, she glances behind her before looking back to me, antsy to leave. "I'm…gonna go. I'll see you soon. Be safe."

Without so much as a hug or a goodbye, Tegan's disappearing from the room, leaving me to sort through my confusion and hurt on my own.

**Tegan's POV**

I have nothing to say. I've said all that I can say. I need a break. I need time to clear my head. I need somewhere to be alone—solitude to aid in the avoidance of more bad decisions. Perhaps being away from Sara will allow my heart to mend just enough to return to normal. Normal enough to grasp the fact that I'll never be graced with the moment of my soul becoming whole once more.

The sound of the hotel door falling closed behind me has my heart crumbling to pieces in my toes, only backing up the knowledge that I've closed the door on the one opportunity I've wanted more than anything in my life—more than success, more than music, more than anything.

I've closed the door on my only chance at true love that was finally within reach, though I was simply too weak to pursue.

**Sara's POV**

I should be chasing her, but this isn't a soap opera. We are not in love. I am not her lover. This is not a rom com where I'll give chase and clumsily trip over my feet in the process, capturing her ankle in my grip and taking her to the hotel hallway's scratchy carpeting where we'll burst into laughter and kiss until the ending credit start rolling.

This is reality, as surreal as it all seems.

**Tegan's POV**

The seven hour trip from Austin to Vancouver was anything but pleasant, only adding to the exhaustion threatening to bring me to my knees. I'm weak, but manage to drag my bags up two flights of stairs to my apartment that seems hauntingly lonely, and even more so than usual. It's late enough for dinner, though the stress that's slowly been pulling be under doesn't allow me the option of hunger. Instead, I spend the next four days in a bed too big to feel comfortable in alone, staring at the empty space beside me in hopes that my depression that has come terrifyingly close to crippling will offer me a vivid image of Sara in my arms and telling me everything that she's too afraid to say. I'm desperate for justification that I'll never have.

I don't know why I do this to myself—nesting in a bed that I rarely leave aside for trips to the bathroom or occasionally for food, not even bothering to have showers as the days come in and out without much change to differentiate them aside from dimming and brightening of the sky outside a window I have covered by shades that I've drawn down to isolate myself from the world further. I've lost track of the days and instead delve deep into fantasy worlds created by corny rom coms that Sara and I used to watch together when nothing else seemed promising as means of entertainment, or abstract romance films that serve the sole purpose of reminding me that I'm alone.

It's almost as if I enjoy the feeling of drowning in my own self-pity and misery. At least I know I'm still capable of feeling something.

**Sara's POV**

Tegan left Austin eight days ago, and while the time apart seemed like a decent plan initially, I've been having trouble sleeping and functioning as a whole. I don't know what I'm doing here, and it's almost as if my logic has finally managed to be overridden by my heart. Lose the battle, win the war I suppose.

Flowers in hand, I find my way up the hallway that's become familiar over time, headphones attempting to calm nerves that have wound themselves into a frenzy with each step closer to a door I'm second guessing my intent to arrive at. With each step closer an internal dialogue is conflicting against my emotion once again, even more so with the sound of Pity Sex in my ears_. "I wanna cry with you…"_ No, I'd rather not. "_I wanna die with you once or twice…"_ I'd prefer to live out the extent of my life and not dwell on the thought of my own mortality, thanks. Seeing that I have no interest in the thought of dying once, I'd assume that goes for dying multiple times, regardless of whether or not you're beside me. "_I wanna lie with you until the pain is through for a while…"_

…Yeah. I do. I wish I didn't. But I've been desperate for your arms for over a week, a puzzle piece missing its match. I hate to admit it—in fact, it makes my stomach churn at the mere thought. But I'm no longer in the game of denying myself—I'm getting far too old for that.

A few raps of my knuckles against the door I've come in search for have my heart skipping beats once again, and had I not heard the sound of footsteps on the opposite side nearing closer with a sleepy "coming" to tell me to remain planted to the ground where I stand, I would have long left by now. I can hear her fingertips snaking around the doorknob, and the feeling of tangible separation is relevant once again before it is removed as she lures it open. I stare at her in silence for a moment, taking in the fact that she looks terribly disheveled and out of place. Honey coloured eyes swollen from crying, I wonder if I am still the cause. Running my tongue over lips that have dried out due to anxiety that's left my hands trembling, I pull the flowers from behind my back as those in the wrong often do in those corny rom coms before removing my headphones and offering a weak smile.

"…What're you doing here?" Tegan asks, sniffling once or twice before swatting at her eyes with the heels of her palm, likely praying that I hadn't noticed that she'd been crying. She eyes the bouquet of flowers with an arched brow before snorting, her face asking "really?" without needing to voice it. I can't help but chuckle sheepishly as she takes them, stepping aside and allowing me entrance to an apartment I haven't set foot in for months. As she closes the door that served as a barrier between us a moment ago, we take the time to settle into the discomfort hanging heavily in the air before I allow myself to speak up.

"I don't know what I'm doing here," I start after a deep sigh that I can only hope will steady the pace of my pounding heart that fears rejection. With pleading eyes I look to her, allowing my guard to fall. "I…I don't know, alright? You're driving me nuts and you're nowhere near me."

"So you chose to come to my apartment…?" she interrupts, attitude lingering in the tone of her voice.

I shoot her sass down with a scolding look before continuing without direction as Tegan takes a spot on the arm of a nearby couch, fiddling with the petals of one of the flowers between her fingertips as I take to pacing nervously, hands wringing enough to give myself arthritis. "I just…everything that's been happening lately and…and what we discussed the other night and…I just…I don't know, Tegan! I don't know! I don't know everything and I sure as hell don't have a fucking answer for why I'm here because I don't even know why I'm here! I just am and why the fuck can't you be grateful for that?"

Tegan's looking up from the flowers in her lap, confusion knitting her brows together as she struggles to understand where the one sided conversation became an argument. "I never said anything about not being grateful…" she mumbles like a teenager being lectured by a parent. "…I just don't understand why you came all the way to Vancouver like I wasn't going to come back to Austin in a few days…"

"Tegan. I just said I don't know why I did, alright. For the last time, I have no fucking idea what possessed me to do this so stop asking and just…" frustrated, my hands find their way into my hair as I stop in my tracks, a few deep breaths attempting to calm me down. Looking to my sister, our eyes meet in pure uncertainty and the silence settles in once again. "Tell me why the fuck I'm here, Tegan. Because I don't have the slightest clue."

Eyes dropping to the floor, I watch as she seems to battle internally with herself before taking a deep breath of her own, setting the flowers down on the couch before pushing to her feet and closing the gap between us, though leaving enough space for breathing room in such a tense situation. "I think that maybe you let your heart win this round," she says gently and truthfully, a silent apology lingering in her gaze in case her answer wasn't the one I was looking for. I take a moment to process what she's said, raking my brain for a logical explanation to shoot it down, though come back empty handed. It's almost as if Tegan can see the confusion raging war within the confines of my soul, because she's quickly backpedaling towards the couch once more, though mindless reflex has me grabbing for her arm and keeping her rooted to the ground. I can't deny the lure of her magnetism any longer, though admitting such a fact makes me sick with nausea. I'm not ready to say it aloud, and Tegan knows it. But in hopes of taking a step towards the one thing I've been without, I nod and allow my forehead to meet her shoulder as she wraps me in an embrace more comforting than my favourite blanket, understanding exactly what was meant in the action. "Take whatever time you need," she murmurs against my ear, hand traveling up and down my back in hopes of slowing my heart to beat in sync with its other half that rests in the confines of her chest. "I can wait if it's waiting for you."

**Tegan's POV**

Our life isn't a rom com, but it certainly has a funny way of playing out.

For the first time this month, I can breathe easy.

For the first time in my life, I can feel the wounds of a dissected soul slowly mending two halves together once again as I breathe in the air that Sara breathes out.

Finally, I'm looking forward to turning the page into the next chapter of my life.


	8. Chapter 8: Sheets

**A/N: Tired writer is tired-again, forgive my laziness about proof reading and avoid focusing on minor mistakes you may find. Feels for you lovely people for bearing through the past few angsty chapters! x Reviews are lovely as usual. :)**

**Chapter 8: Sheets**

**Sara's POV**

Night's fallen and I've taken to making myself a comfortable enough spot on the futon in Tegan's living room while she's making rounds through her own bedtime routine. Her apartment's warm but not warm enough, so rather than my usual combination of underwear and an oversized shirt, I've opted for a pair of flannel PJ pants and a hooded sweatshirt that I've stolen from one of Tegan's unorganized drawers. Curling up against the arm of the sofa, I look towards the doorway of the bathroom to be sure I'm not within her line of vision before lifting the gray fabric over the bottom half of my face, inhaling the intoxicating aroma that I know only as Tegan's unique scent. I could spend the rest of the night attempting to describe the elixir without doing so successfully—perhaps something similar to a perfect concoction of patchouli scented incense, faint cigarette smoke, a gentle vanilla perfume all wrapped up the comforting warmth of fresh laundry. It's a smell I've associated with my twin since our late teenage years, and I suppose somewhere along the way became a level of relief that was incapable of being surpassed by lovers I took in. Tegan's smell was inviting, alluring, home. I hated to admit something so horribly romantic to myself, but to deny it would be an outright lie.

And the task of constantly lying to myself is beginning to wear me down to the very core.

**Tegan's POV**

Preparing for bed is one of my favourite routines, seeing that it's never rushed and allows me to unwind from the grip of looping thoughts that have tortured my mind for the majority of the day. I replace my contacts with an older pair of glasses, wash the stale tears from my face, and brush the taste of stale cigarettes and coffee from my teeth before shedding my clothes that I spent the day confined in, keeping nothing more than black boxer briefs and a ragged v-neck on my body before padding barefooted towards the doorway of the bathroom to check in on my unexpected houseguest. Coming to a halt as my eyes fall upon her, I can't help but notice that she seems to be in the midst of losing herself in a sweatshirt she's snatched from my bedroom, a smile of endearment taking its place against my lips desperate to rekindle the flames between us. I also note that she's grabbed a few pillows and a blanket from the wash, an observation that has me speaking up in confusion. "Are you sleeping on the couch?"

Sara lifts her head, her eyes gleaming with surprise as I suppose she assumed I wouldn't be paying her much mind. "…Do you have a guest room that I'm unaware of?" she asks, a nervous chuckle escaping her lips as she fiddles with the drawstrings dangling from her neck. I meet her look of flustered confusion with brows raised in amusement, shrugging before leaning against the doorframe with arms draped across my chest loosely. "Not the last time I checked, no. Unless you count one of the closets as a room…which I suppose you probably do considering your place in Montreal is nothing more than a glorified closet anyway, eh?" I'm only messing with her of course, offering a laugh and a toothy grin before shuffling off towards the bedroom, catching her gaze before tilting my head towards the doorway as a gesture meaning for her to follow. "C'mon."

**Sara's POV**

What does she mean c'mon? Certainly she doesn't expect me to spend the night on her bedroom floor that is nowhere near as immaculate as my own—the futon pulls out into a bed, after all—I'll spend the night there until it comes time to accommodate to our coffin like bunks on the tour bus once again. Pushing myself to my feet, I wander after her hesitantly, picking at the beds of my nails as the tension and anxiety in the pit of my stomach bubbles up so suddenly that I'm incapable of paying no mind to it. Once inside Tegan's bedroom, she reaches for the door and eases it closed before crawling across a mattress big enough for three if personal space was disregarded, lifting navy covers to dip beneath them and settle in for the night. She looks to me expectantly in silence for a moment before her brows perk upwards when she comes to the realization that I haven't followed suit. "Well?" she asks, leaving me to shift uncomfortably from one foot to the other. I'm exhausted from unnecessary traveling, and whatever head games she's attempting to lure me into are going to have my blood boiling faster than she knows.

"Well what?" I ask, reaching for the doorknob. "Did you want me to sing you a lullaby or tuck you in or something, you child?"

My nerves are met with petty laughter before Tegan's whipping the pillow beside her in my direction, quick reflex capturing it within my grip before it meets my face. "No, but unless you wanna sleep on a raggedy ass couch, I'd suggest you quit being such a whimpy little shit and get in bed."

Though my logic refuses to get behind the idea, my heart seems to drive me without even allowing a second thought, forcing my feet to carry me towards the empty side of Tegan's bed that without a doubt seems far more inviting than a pull out couch would ever be. Slithering beneath a comforter that simply could not be more comforting, drenched in the smell of my other half, I'm sure to allow as much space as possible to exist between us. Lying on my side with my back towards Tegan, my heart's still willing me to turn and face her, the magnetic pull begging to close the distance that I've left to separate us. And despite the fact that we're incapable of making eye contact, I can feel honey coloured eyes drilled a heavy gaze into the back of my skull. It doesn't take more than a minute or two of uncomfortable silence to tempt my twin into tracing idle fingertips against my spine that leaves a trail down the center of my back, her touch ghosting along so lightly that it leaves chills in its wake. Every inch of me is desperate to feel the curvature of my own form nestled as puzzle pieces into the waves of her body, though once again logic's kept me on a short enough leash to keep me from acting out. Internally I thank a higher being for the existence of loopholes as Tegan makes the push to close the barrier between us, arm draping over my waist protectively as she lures me closer. "Turn over," she mumbles in a tone that I daydream would carry sweet nothings through sleepy air. "Please?"

The option of fighting it doesn't even present itself as I turn to face my sister, tongue snaking over lips that have gone dry with nervous anticipation. I don't know what she's craving or seeking, though a firm yet gentle hand against the small of my back eases me ever closer until prominent hipbones meet my own, only separated by thin and flimsy layers of fabric that clothe our bodies. Against her sheets I feel lost in a frenzy of romantic dizziness, feel as if logic's grip is incapable of reaching me here. If the waves of craving are tainted with taboo, I hope they drown me.

Tegan's hands find their place, cupping my face as if she's been allowed to hold a piece of heaven for a moment in time. The awe sparkling in her gaze is enough to leave me breathless as the gentle pad of her thumb caresses the rise and fall of my cheek, a small and sheepish smile meeting her lips before hers find my own in the gentlest yet most passionate kiss I've ever experienced, pulling me beneath the tide of emotion threatening to swallow me whole. If this is what drowning feels like, I'm hungry to go under.

"I love you," comes a soft whisper between kisses intimate enough to make me believe we've disconnected from the universe as we know it, existing beyond the gates of reality. Logic's shock collar isn't there to keep me from responding, and before I even have a moment to process it, I'm uttering back an equally as gentle "I love you, too" as I reel Tegan in closer, desperate for the connection I've lost over years of suppressing need. A small chuckle of relief fills the air between us that we're sharing, the air comprised of breath that she takes in as I breathe out. As wrong as it may seem to outsiders, I've never been so overwhelmed with such heart wrenching, unrequited love as I am in this moment. Something in Tegan's touch, kiss, and presence in general is there to shoot down any hint of negativity with reassurance that I'm safe here. Something in her heart as it reunites itself with its missing half kisses each and every unhealed wound of mine back to health, mending our kindred souls back into the single entity it originally was. Here, in Tegan's bed that I'm aching to call our own, I finally feel at ease with the situation that I've been running from for years. Here, I finally feel complete, as if my missing piece has finally navigated its way home against the roughest seas imaginable, a course I forced it to navigate in hopes of keeping it from its return.

Here, against her sheets, I feel home.

**Tegan's POV**

My heartstrings are knotted in emotion I never thought it was possible to feel-y'know, those feelings authors spill their souls onto pages over, feelings that I spent years pining to feel though allowed that hope to sail when I realized they were only meant for a lucky few. For thirty two years I've spent day in and day out searching the world far and wide for a feeling that would finally allow me to feel whole, a feeling that would allow me to write as beautifully as my favourite authors did of their experiences with a feeling known as unrequited love. I wanted to know the angst that came with an ache in the heart that was only caused by desperate craving, the tug that came with the feeling of need, not want. And as I finally live out the moment I've spent more days and nights yearning for than I can possibly put a number to, I understand the words that fueled me through and through. Here in my arms is the queen of my everything, regardless of how immoral or atrocious it may seem to those on the outside looking in. Here, I've found the shore to my tide and the gravity that keeps me grounded. Here, in the more unlikely of places, in the most impossible of people, I've found sense when clarity was out of reach.

And when my ballsy declaration of love is returned without hesitance between the silent love letters exchanged through kisses I simply cannot part with, I'm left to fall asleep in the deepest serenity I've felt in years.


	9. Chapter 9: A Matter of When (Not If)

**A/N: Sorry to keep you guys waiting; procrastination and writers block is a hell of a detrimental mix! Thanks to my lovely friend for giving me this dramatic twist-I hope you guys enjoy! Things are about to take a hell of a turn on the Heartthrob tour...(your feedback is appreciated, as usual!)**

**Chapter 9: A Matter of When (Not if)**

**Tegan's POV**

Have you ever betrayed somebody? Like, truly allowed the fact to sink into your mind and heart alike that you're doing something to hurt somebody that you care for deeply? Have you ever woken up wrapped in the embrace of someone that you aren't supposed to love to the extent that you do, only to realize that the person that should be in their position isn't there? Have you ever spent countless hours in a state of sleep deprived thought, raking your brain for an answer to the ever so selfish question, "why"? Why me? Why her? Why not anybody else on this earth? Why us? Why this? Why now? Why…ever?

She hates it when I act childish—return to my angst ridden ways of a broken teenage soul desperate for escape or at least an artificial answer to blame so the burden eases off of my weakened shoulders. She hates it when my eyes glisten with a sheet of tears that I won't allow to escape the confines of eyelids that act as dams and as a barrier to emotion. She hates it when I drown myself in my own misery that I've unknowingly become addicted to. She hates my rock bottom that I've tasted time and time again, all at my own hand. "You did it to yourself," she's said to me more times than I'm capable of counting. "If you stopped with your woe-is-me shit, you'd figure it all out and be back on track."

I am a nameless ghost in your footsteps. You are the light that guides me in the night, the shield that assists in the protection of my foolish heart. But can you shield a foolish heart from its enemy when the enemy is you? Can you protect my heart from yourself?

It's addictive. Feeling down and out, I mean. I hollow out in hopes of replacing what I've lost with whatever I can gather—sympathy, empathy, pity. Why I feel so complete while lying beside you leaves me clueless and slightly misguided. I'm so terribly accustomed to feeling void, and at your side I almost have a compulsion to empty out some of this sudden feeling of completion. I love you, I do. And that scares me more than you know.

Sara turns, shifting graciously against the sheets wrinkled from sleep beneath her, until honeycomb eyes meet my own, and while still glazed over with exhaustion, they seem more vibrant and content than they have since Austin. I wonder if she can read into my thoughts, that stupid twin telepathy thing people have been going on about since before we were capable of forming sensible sentences. It's only then that I realize we've been souls connected by a red string of fate since before we were even physically tangible beings. One person split into two separate bodies, separate identities, separate laws and moral codes to live and act by. But in this bed, the barriers of division serve no purpose and I am left to allow my soul to revel in the connection it's been seeking out once again. _Don't leave me_ I want to tell her, over and over again until my throat is raw from repetition. _Don't leave me, don't leave me, don't leave me…_

**Sara's POV**

Waking up beside Tegan leaves a slightly eerie feeling hanging in the air that forces me to live through flashbacks of our childhood. I recall nights where loud crashes of thunder would leave her crawling into my bed and beneath my covers, clinging to me for support and emotional sturdiness as if her life depended on it. And now I find myself wrapped in her protective hold as if the tables have somehow managed to turn at some point or another, her fingertips brushing back and forth against the sensitive skin of my lower back beneath the sweatshirt I had stolen from her the night before. She looks as if she spent the night straining her eyes to count paint speckles on the ceiling above, and I can't help but be slightly concerned. "You okay?" I ask, my voice quieter and gentler than it has been in months, still ridden with the rasp of sleep. Tegan simply nods in response, the heel of her free hand taking to her eyes to rub away exhaustion. Morning quiet hoovers sleepily over the bedroom, slivers of light shining through the window just over our heads. Tegan's always had a thing about pushing her beds up against the nearest window, loving the cool breezes that tumble through screens on summer nights. It was also an excuse to close the distance between herself and a bed partner in the colder months, something I can see that she's attempting to do ever so slyly right now, easing closer though making it seem as if she's doing nothing more than shifting to find a more comfortable position to lie in. The flannel pants that are slightly oversized against my calves have worked their way up to bunch at my knobby knees, allowing the warm and silken skin of Tegan's leg to brush against mine like silk as she lazily drapes it across me before wiggling closer with a groan of comfort. The sound of fabric on fabric friction between her clothes and the sheets beneath us pierce our silence before she smiles lazily, snaking her tongue over lips that seem desperate to connect with mine in an unhurried display of affection that wishes me good morning without the need for words. I stay silent, eyes quickly switching from her lips to her nose to anywhere they can settle, hoping that somewhere will be enough to take my mind from wishing to allow her kiss. But before I can even deter the impression that I'm interested, Tegan's leaning in, capturing my lips with her own so lovingly that I it takes every bit of self-restraint to keep myself from dissolving into a puddle. I hate the fact that Tegan is capable of using her allure on me. I should be anything but vulnerable to it. I should be beyond immune to her pull, to the magnetism that has me lifting my arms as her gentle fingertips catch the hem of my sweatshirt in their hold, one swift and smooth tug upwards ridding my body of its warmth that is only replaced by Tegan's warmth instead. I want so wholly to push her away as she moves ever closer, deepening our kiss that is anything but proper, her bubblegum tongue exploring the caverns of my mouth without being met by a single bit of resistance. Somehow, she's managed to convince my tongue to move along with her own, and for the first time I'm capable of picking up the taste of need against my tastebuds. I can spend the rest of my life denying it, but God…I've never needed somebody so desperately in all of my years.

The stripping of fabric barriers between us comes fluidly, our clothing tainted with the dust of sleep finding its way into a not so neat pile upon the floor beside the bed as my skin learns the kiss of Tegan's against it. This isn't the first time, no—but in another regard, it is. This is the first time that I'm willingly giving in, allowing my icy and adamant denial to dissipate into the warm air around us. This is the first time I'm allowing my senses to pick up every detail in hopes of committing this moment to memory. This is the first time I don't see this action as "giving up" on my morals; it's simply a matter of giving in to the bond we've been lacking. An expression of love beyond what you can deal out with each and every person that you care for. This intimacy is physical, solid; channeling emotion that is capable of transferring between two bodies momentarily. These are the love letters thought up and stowed away for years in my head or stuffed into a lockbox beneath my bed for safe keeping, finally becoming a love that is tangible and well communicated sans words on both ends.

**Tegan's POV**

The sight of Sara bare and exposed for my eyes to take in is one I'll never quite forget. Overwhelming desire that I thought was a feeling dreamed up by fiction authors overcomes each and every inch of my body as I find my way on top of her, straddling a waist with just the slightest addition of curvature that look to me like waves of my own ocean. I allow myself to be rocked and swayed by them, learning her motions and tempo alike as curious fingers move across unexplored skin. Her breasts that blush against my touch, a chest that heaves and falls in hopes of catching the breath that I've expelled leave me feeling dizzy and incapable of processing much more than carnal hunger. The vulnerability that lingers between us leaves me struggling to breathe properly, and for a split second in time I wonder if this moment means far more to me than it ever will to my sister. The slow rocking back and forth of my hips against hers leaves prominent hip bones to kiss my own with each fluid motion, the craving burning like an unquenchable fire in the pit of my stomach growing with each passing second. I can't help but be greedy, hand resting flat against the taut abdomen beneath me for support as I grind harder against Sara. The hands that have found my sides are sinking nails deliciously into my skin, as if the connection we've managed isn't close enough, Sara's eyes boring holes into my being. Her breathing has become scattered, picking up in pace though catching in her throat when shocks of pleasure surge through her. It amazes me how my thighs are already trembling with the anticipation of a mind blowing orgasm, how the slightest bit of pressure against my clit has goosebumps scattered across every inch of my body that's begging for Sara's touch. And although the simultaneous grinding is forcing ever increasing wetness and heat to become more announced between my legs, something is still missing. I need the actual connection; I need her inside of me.

**Sara's POV**

Tegan's reaching for one of my hands, removing it from her side to lift herself off of my waist just enough to slip it between her thighs that seem to be quivering. I never thought of Tegan to be the type who practically keels over with anticipation, and perhaps she isn't—perhaps only I hold the ability to drive her this wild. She's back to rolling herself in slow, teasing circles that practically lull me into permanent hypnotization. I don't refrain from pressing my thumb against her clit, applying the pressure that she now seems desperate for. And while the change is enough to draw a whimper from her, Tegan's grip tightens around my wrist as she stares into my eyes as if they were the windows to my very soul. "Put your fingers inside me," she husks, the dire necessity and pleading in her voice forcing my own wetness to become pronounced. I'm so sick of claiming that this physicality is accidental, circumstantial. I've fled with shame each time, but I won't retreat with my tail between my legs this time. I want this. I need this. Tegan is mine.

Tongue gliding over lips that still taste of her sleepy kisses, I don't hesitate to allow two fingers to slip inside of Tegan's walls that immediately clench against them. The feeling alone leaves my mind reeling, pushing all thought aside as I work my way in deeper. The curling and uncurling of my fingertips leave her writhing on top of me, head thrown back as ungodly noises and words alike blend together in a symphony of ecstasy that it seems she's never reached before. The hand that isn't gripping my wrist in attempts of forcing me deeper is buried in her mess of auburn curls disheveled from sleep, and the clenching of her jaw and stomach muscles alike have me eager to drag Tegan to the edge just to watch her fall into oblivion at my hand. Sure, I've had my fair share of intimate experiences, but none could ever hold a candle to the craving that hangs heavily between us. She's taken to riding my middle and ring fingers now, each completed motion only squeezing me tighter. I'm blindsided by the wetness that's practically dripping down my forearm now, the flush in Tegan's face telling me that each carefully executed touch is driving her closer to the release she's craving. But as if the stars preparing to align suddenly chose to wander a different path, the sound of my phone vibrating against the window sill above my head pierces the warm air like a surge of ice in my veins, catching the both of us off guard and throwing me from my zone. Tegan, whilst still hungrily rocking herself against my fingers in hopes of steadily nearing climax, peers over to the screen that's lit up to call for attention. "S-Stacy," she stumbles, the worry in her eyes reflecting that in my own. I should have expected she'd be ringing me around this time, as it had become a habit of hers to dial up a good morning call when I was away. The knot in my stomach that had originally formed over the sexual tension between Tegan and I was now tightening with anxiety and panic as I attempt to withdraw my fingers, though my greedy twin's grip tightens to keep me where I am. "How do I ignore it?" she breathes, reaching for the phone with the hand that had been buried in her forest of hair. In a flustered daze, my scattered brain struggles to recall which way to swipe at the screen of the phone to decline a call—horizontal is to decline, vertical to accept? No, it's vertical to decline, horizontal to accept. Try as I might to focus on Tegan's question, the whimpers and moans increasing in volume and desperation are making my heart pound louder than the sound of my train of thought that ends up derailed when I blurt out, "Swipe vertically, I'll c-call her back."

**Stacy's POV**

Sara left for Vancouver the other day with the intention of bringing Tegan back to Austin. She seemed a bit distant and vague over the reasoning behind their tiff that had sent the older twin running for the cover of familiarity at home, and the fact that Sara had chased after her sister was odd enough in itself. She wasn't the clingy type and truly never had been—if either of the girls were clingy, it was Tegan by a long shot. We haven't spoken much since we exchanged goodbyes in the airport terminal, though even then Sara seemed dazed and preoccupied, her mind searching somewhere else. I never paid it much mind, though the fact that our communication has been dwindling close to nothing, I can't refrain from dialing her up to check in after texts went unanswered. I listen to one ring, followed by another and one more before my call is answered, though it seems that she's fumbling to get a proper hold on the phone. I don't hear her usual "Hello?" on the other end—instead, I get an earful of muffled jumbling, and I wonder for a moment if perhaps her pocket has accidentally answered for her as it so often does with the inconvenience of a sensitive touch screen.

"Babe?" I try, though am met with nothing more than a continuation of noises I can't entirely identify. There's music playing, and while it's faint it's still loud enough to block out whatever else is going on in the background. "Sara?" I try again, waiting for that familiar voice to greet me sleepily and force my anxiety to melt away immediately. The longer I wait for a response, the more irritated I become. I feel as if I've been left completely in the dark to whatever has occurred between my girlfriend and her sister, something terribly unlike the woman I fell head over heels for. Just as I'm figuring it's better to just end the call, I catch the sound of speaking behind the unclear music. Brow furrowed in confusion, I listen in closer, covering my opposite ear with two fingers in hopes of drowning out distraction on my end of the line. I repeat Sara's name only to hear it practically echoed, though it isn't my voice that I hear.

"Right there," comes through huskily, following the sound of what seems to me like heavy breathing—panting even—before an unbelievably loud moan moves through one ear to the other, my eyes widening in utter shock and disbelief. What the hell did I just hear? Before I even have a chance to gather my thoughts, another stream of words leaves sickness in the pit of my stomach. "Sara please, I need you deeper…"

"What the fuck?" I say aloud, lifting my phone away from my ear and looking to the screen of my phone as if it would disregard the fear and disgust in my heart, somehow telling me that this wasn't my Sara on the other end of the line. It wasn't my Sara's name tumbling from someone else's lips in the grasp of lust; it wasn't my Sara giving herself up to someone other than me. "Sara! Pick up your fucking phone!"

The ill feeling leaving knots in my nerves is bring my blood to a boil as I try and try again to get my girlfriend's attention, though am simply subjected to nothing more than continuous loops of ecstasy stacking itself in increasing crescendos. That disgust and disbelief only staggers to an unsurpassable level when the voice I've come to know better than my own utters the name I'm dreading to hear in a tone riddled with fervor. "Fuck, Tegan…"

**Tegan's POV**

My nails are practically removing each layer of paint from my window sill as I claw relentlessly for something to keep me from being recklessly thrown over the edge of an orgasm so powerful that Sara has to be behind it, my entire body trembling like a crumbling leaf. "I'm gonna c-cum," I stutter between breaths I struggle to grasp, the feeling of Sara's fingers filling and stretching me leaving me to believe my room is spinning. She has an unbelievable talent for making me dizzy and scatterbrained, blind with delusional lust and carnal desire. I near the cliff with each passing second that her fingers work against my most sensitive spot, eyes rolling into the back of my head as her free hand takes to etching possessive marks to become scars into my back. I want Sara to tear me apart in the most primal and loving of manners. I want her to take me by the throat and steal my air away, forcing me to depend on the breaths she supplies through rough kisses to my bruised lips. I want her relentless love to manifest in physical pain that she'll kiss better in a blinding after glow. Ruin me, Sara. I am yours to break.

Her words of encouragement come in a deep growl that shakes me to my core, hot breath teasing against my ear as she forces her fingers deeper than I knew they were capable of going. "Cum all over me…I want to feel you dripping down my arm."

_Jesus. _Every muscle in my body tenses to the point that it's almost painful as my hips jerk forward and I practically collapse on top of my sister as the throes of passion swallow me whole, drowning me beneath waves of delirious euphoria that I'm not entirely sure that I ever want to surface from. My breaths refuse to steady and return to normal as my body crumbles against her, my screams muffled by the crook of her neck. From my ruins, my soul searches out its partner within her, and in the aftershock of drowning I feel myself become whole for the first time of my life, my head heavy and spinning with overwhelming emotion.

I never believed the people who claimed drowning was peaceful until this very moment.

Sara, take me under.

**Sara's POV**

The way Tegan's collapsed against me leaves the strings of my heart looking to tie into hers, and I wonder for a moment if perhaps that's why it's beating so heavily against the wall of my chest. I can feel my toes curling in response to the way Tegan's lifted her head to look into my eyes as I take my fingers into my mouth, savoring the taste of her cum that's drenched them. I've never tasted something so addicting upon first contact, and the idea alone only leaves the heat between my legs to become more pronounced. I have a feeling that perhaps the radiating warmth somehow managed to play against Tegan's skin, because within a moment's notice her lips that were lazily pressing kisses against my neck have been replaced by bites and suction looking to mark me, fingertips circling against my clit that's been throbbing for her touch since she mounted me. I can tell by the way that I'm quick to arch into her that I'm likely going straight over the edge without much effort this time around, my grip working its way into Tegan's hair that's an aphrodisiac in itself. I'm not careful to avoid tugging at her curls or dragging nails over skin that I'm intent on marking, disregarding the possibility of future repercussions. Somehow she manages to find the perfect balance between loving and fucking, kisses against my collarbones tender and caring while her fingers slam into me harder than I've ever experienced before. I'm in a fucking haze of lust that's enough to leave obscenities to trickle from my lips without prior thought, leaving me to beg Tegan to fuck the daylights out of me without shame. And while I'm fixated on pulling her closer, no amount of contact between our bodies is close enough. It's only then that I understand the idea of kindred spirits, smacked directly in the face with the realization that my desires to have her become one with myself is due to the mere fact that we truly were one spirit divided into two at the time of our birth. This leaves me flustered, my hands taking to her face and pulling her in to crash our lips together in reckless and clingy need, my tongue that still faintly tastes of her finding its way inside of her mouth that welcomes me without hesitation. It's only in that moment where she manages to hit the exact spot my body's been hoping for, forcing me into the deepest abyss of rapture that I've ever met. The near violent peak I hit has me whimpering Tegan's name over and over again, head falling back into the hold of her pillows. I've surpassed cloud 9 without the knowledge that such an experience was even possible, the light headed spinning leaving me to cling to my twin for dear life.

**Tegan's POV**

Sheer and thin sheets of sweat coat mine and Sara's bodies alike as we bask in mutual understanding, allowing our souls to reunite if only for this moment. The red string of fate laces us back up in the places we've come undone as my ear rests against my sister's chest, listening to the slowing beats of her heart that call out to me as her ribs expand and contract, deep breaths forcing them to expand enough to invite me in. I could lose myself here, and slowly I begin to until the vibration of Sara's phone against the sill brings me back to reality once more. Lifting my head, Sara pushes me away reluctantly, if only enough to push herself into an upright position. She seems disgruntled over the fact that Stacy's taken to bothering her like a worried mother, and while I hate to admit it, I allow myself to snicker internally. As selfish as it may seem, I pride myself in the fact that I've managed to get my twin to put me before anybody else in her life, though as her brows furrow with her gaze upon an illuminated screen, I wonder if my selfishness has come at an improper time. When her chest begins to rise and fall heavily once again, worry sets in and my hand falls against her shoulder in hopes of offering solace or reassurance. "What's wrong?" I ask. I'm met with a stare of absolute terror as Sara lifts her eyes, forcing my heart into overdrive. The silence cuts into me like a knife as I speak up once again. "What?" The anxiety ripping my nerves to shreds is obvious in my voice as Sara simply turns the phone enough for me to read the message she's received from Stacy, and it takes me more than five times reading it over to fully comprehend the situation we've just gotten ourselves into.

**Next time you decide to fuck your sister, make sure you decline my call first, you disgusting bitch.**


	10. Chapter 10: Passenger

**A/N: It's possible that this is riddled with mistakes. And for that, I apologize. I simply cannot bring myself to proof read, for fear that I may explode with sexual feels. Please enjoy some bondage as Tegan takes the reins on a dominant position. This is...essentially all smut since I've been encouraged to write more of it. Aw yisss. Behave yourselves! **

**PS: The title is Passenger because reading along side Passenger by Deftones might assist in further sexual frustration. Do so at your own risk.**

**Chapter 10: Passenger**

**Tegan's POV**

I don't know what happened. It's almost as if I'm moving unconsciously and without a single thought on my mind aside from the greedy allowance of pleasure on my end. It was all so fast—one minute we're arguing, hurling heated words like bulldozers meant to crumble fragile structures, the next I've got Sara thrown back against the cool tiles of the bathroom wall before our lips come together in that tidal wave to shore manner, desperation and pent up anger hanging heavily in the air. We had spent all of yesterday somewhere in the middle of panicking and fighting, putting the blame of the Stacy debacle on one another to avoid another burden to carry. It truly hadn't been my fault—I had simply done what she told me to do, the slip up was clearly a foul on her end of the court. But Sara being as hot headed and stubborn as she always has been only continued to find loose ended excuses to pin the fault on me, leaving me to storm off in what she was quick to call "typical Tegan fashion". Do all couples live through the constant yanking and shoving of a love/hate relationship? Jesus, we're not even a couple…

The entire situation with Stacy had gone down on Wednesday; Thursday had been nothing more than silent glares in passing and Sara sleeping on the couch. Now that Friday afternoon's rolled around, neither of us can take the distance forced between us with the spell of cold rumours and even colder shoulders. She tries fighting my reckless affection, her attempts at getting a word in against my lips failing miserably as each sound falls clumsily to the floor.

"Tegan, get off of—"

"Fucking stop, Te—"

"What are you—"

She's awoken a monster in me, one that's been stirred from heavy slumber by bottling anxiety, frustration, tension, and hopelessness just to shake them about mercilessly by giving me the silent treatment for days on end. I'm needy. And I need her.

Her skin's still slick from warm water that continues its trek over pale curves, my hands following in their wake. I can recall a drunken night of oversharing a year or two ago when she had inadvertently blurted out her darkest fantasy, one that included relentless force and a hint of surprise. "I'd like to see the dumbass who thinks they can control me," she had said with a laugh so arrogant that I can still hear it ringing in my ears now as I sink my teeth into the crook of her neck. "It'd be worth it."

One hand moves to clasp over her mouth as the other takes to the intricate rise and fall waves of her stomach, basking in the feeling of skin I feel like I've been without for months. I feel so disconnected, and as her muffled mumbles attempt to sneak beyond the confines of my hand, I allow her to hear my intention through a husky whisper against her ear. "I'm only helping you forget Stacy."

It's almost as if my words have a calming effect, because quicker than I imagined she's subdued in my grasp, tension replaced by undeniable rising of goosebumps that follow my touch wherever it goes. Her breathing's changed from mostly normal to mostly erratic as my knee parts her legs from behind to allow my fingers access. She can deny it all she wants, but the heat radiating from between her creamy thighs is nothing less than impressive. We've been at this for no more than a moment or two and she's already eager to let me back in. Let me in, Sara. But if fighting it makes you feel better, I'm strong enough to handle it.

I can handle you.

**Sara's POV**

How the hell does Tegan know that I've wanted a lover willing to topple my dominant streak for years now? How does she know just how to touch me, just how to force my heart into pumping adrenaline through my veins like electricity that leaves me aching in all the right spots? My toes are close to curling and she's barely done more than pin me face first against the wall and allow her fingers to linger. I can't keep myself from pushing limits—it's like she's dangling meat in front of a hungry animal. My teeth find her fingers as best as they can before I push back against her, hoping to encourage the rougher side inside of my sister that I know exists. If anyone in this world can rip control away from me in a moment's notice, it's Tegan.

The words she whispers, practically breathes into my ear, send a second army of goose bumps across my skin damp from cleaning. Symbolic, isn't it? The fact that my twin's choosing to defile the "sanctity "of our relationship after I've washed myself clean of any traces of our misguided affection. Truthfully, the thought alone leaves my heart revving into overdrive, palms overcome in a layer of clammy sweat. I'm practically ready to beg as her fingertips tease at my inner thighs, gliding over my slit that's already shamelessly greeting her touch with wetness. I don't keep my hips from attempting to grind down against her fingers, though I'm not entirely surprised when she reels her hand away, giving me a slight smack as warning. "You're not in charge anymore," she reminds me, grip relocating to my sides as she forces me through the bathroom doorway that leads to the bedroom. My face meets the partial comfort of comforters and sheets disheveled from sleep, Tegan's scent heavy against them. I breathe it in like a junkie in search of a fix, an aphrodisiac assisting in furthering my arousal as my sister climbs onto the bed enough to straddle me, knee against my back to pin me down. I attempt to turn my head in hopes of seeing what she's gotten into, the sound of sifting through the bedside drawers leaving me nervous and curious all at once. Tongue snaking over my lips to keep them from drying, I don't see much more than a glimpse of black material before Tegan's hand find the back of my head, shifting its position just enough to leave me face down against the mattress. "Don't move unless I tell you to move," she barks, and I can't help but allow a whimper escape me as an answer. My entire body's aching over the idea of being manhandled by own sister, craving clawing at my skin as if some deep down inner demon is begging to be set free. My attention's brought back to physical sensation as tightening takes to my wrists before a tug follows, jingling ringing in my ears. The material against my skin doesn't feel cold like metal or fluffy like whimpy handcuffs purchased as a joke for a couple whose romantic life has taken a turn for the worst. No, it feels closer to leather—smooth, cool. But before I can put more thought into it, I'm being tugged to my feet once the weight of Tegan's knee is removed from my back. A ping of stimulation hits the pit of my stomach like rising flames struggling to engulf me at the mere thought of how strong Tegan truly is in comparison to me, knowing that all the fight in the world coming from my end couldn't defy her.

"You look a lot better in cuffs than I thought you would," she teases as my body fits into the curves of her own. "And there's no use in trying to get out of these ones, they aren't flimsy."

I turn my head to look over my shoulder at Tegan, surprise written all across my face as my widened eyes gawk into hers, lips parted slightly in mere amazement. It's almost as if she's reading my mind…

"Twin telepathy," she whispers with a grin more devious than I've ever seen before. The glint of mischief has set her hazel eyes ablaze, turning them into a colour closer to ember. The fiery grip of desire has taken her under without hope of release. I can see it in her gaze, and I hope she can see it in mine.

Tegan's reaching for the open drawer now that as I peer over seems bottomless, her grip still tightened firmly around the heavy metal chain that links my cuffs together. I never took her for one to be involved in such deviancy, and to say that I'm bewildered when she calmly begins snaking a roll of what feels and smells like PVC strips around my mouth and head as a makeshift gag of sorts wouldn't even begin to do my emotions justice. It's smooth against my lips, the only kiss that I'll be granted as it continuously tightens with each round about my head. Tegan's teeth catch it once she decides she's bound me enough for now, tearing off its connection to the rest still wrapped around a roll. Turning me towards the nearby mirror, she stands behind me and watches on as I shamelessly admire myself in a position of submission at the hands of my sister. "Bondage tape," she explains, as if the curiosity is presented silently in my eyes. "To keep you from biting…and to keep you quiet."

With one hand against my stomach once again, Tegan begins to sway us from side to side, encouraging me to grind back against her. I don't even think to decline the movement, watching our reflection in the mirror as our bodies move in sync hypnotically. I'm left to follow her opposite hand as it trails between my thighs once again parted by her knee, fingers pressing teasingly against my clit that's practically throbbing against her, desperate for release. It draws an immediate whimper from behind the tape that Tegan's placed to muffle each noise that struggles to escape me. I'm caught completely off guard when she dips two fingers inside of me rather roughly and abruptly, not a moment of hesitation before she's worked them as far as they can reach. My head falls back against her shoulder as I let out a defeated cry, every muscle of my body tensing with the continuously climbing arousal that engulfs me. I wish I could beg her, but my words would go as unheard and jumbled mumbling against her ears. Instead I suffice for squeezing my eyes shut for a moment to revel in the sensations taking me over before looking to her pleadingly as our gazes meet. Please, Tegan. Don't torture me too much.

**Tegan's POV**

Sara looks so damn good when she's restricted at my whim. The way her eyes beg me to shove her over the edge into an abyss of mind numbing release is difficult to ignore, though I manage to shrug it off. I can't give in—I am in control, I am in control, I am in control…

The way she clings to my fingers when they're buried inside of her draws a small gasp from my lungs, and though I tried to push the idea away, I'm far too hungry for connection. The hand that's teasing against taut abdomen muscles finds its place beneath her chin, keeping her from moving her head away from my shoulder as I work my fingers inside of her, allowing them to curl and uncurl against her most sensitive spot. Her knees are giving way, I can feel it in the way her body weight is slowly but surely becoming more dependent on me to support it. "Does that feel good?" I purr, watching as she struggles to keep eyes from clamping closed, the best nod she can muster in my grip letting me know that I'm doing something correctly. The wetness dripping down my fingers is unbelievable and a bit dizzying, but for the mere fact that I hold the control in this situation, I decide to egg on her desperation by removing them swiftly, lifting them to my lips and surrounding them with the warm cavern of my mouth, allowing her fluids to dissolve against my tongue like honey I can't get enough of. A hum of pleasure escapes my lips as she looks on, a groan of neediness echoing my own. "Fuck," I hear from beyond the tape that hasn't entirely silenced her, a smirk tugging at the corner of my lips as I perk my brows up suggestively. "You taste so fucking good," I husk, taking my tongue over lips in hopes of capturing whatever I've left behind. "So fucking good."

I'm not careful with her anymore as I force her onto the bed once again, this time on her back with her arms beneath her. I'm sure it's uncomfortable, and I can tell that she's likely willing to be in any position but the one she's in as she squirms against my sheets and attempts to call out my name. Taking her knees in my hands to keep her from shifting, I send a glare in her direction that freezes her. "Stop," I say firmly, nails digging into the flesh just above knobby kneecaps. I think for a moment how lovely they'd be if they were bruised, if my passion and conflicted heart were etched into her body for future memory. The thought fuels me to part her legs, kneeling between them but allowing my mouth to sink into her flesh wherever it lands—stomach, ribs, breasts, collarbones, prominent hips that beg for my attention. I dig my love into her whether she wants love letters for later or not, the noises and constant struggle to move closer and farther all at once allow me entry to the conflict locked within the confines of her soul. She's so tortured over this, over the fact that nobody will ever fuck her as properly as her twin does. And I am, too. And so I leave my confusion across her skin, deep red and light hues of purple that will be darkened by tomorrow promising that she isn't in this alone.

Before I do my bidding, I reach for a leather eye cover, placing it gently over eyes begging me not to remove another one of her senses. "Are you going to be good?" I ask, and the furrowing in her brow followed by a frustrated nod tells me all that I need to know as I remove her sight. I know she wants to watch, but with less distraction comes more attention to focus on the feelings taking her over. I know what I'm doing, despite the fact that she likely believes the opposite.

Again I find myself between her creamy thighs that I can't resist marking, teeth setting into her as if I were thirsty for blood. Her hips drive upwards as she practically shrieks in surprise, attempting to wiggle out of the firm grip I have on her. A slight but firm smack to a dripping wet slit is enough to keep her from acting out, but I can't promise that I won't.

Three fingers find their way inside of her, stretching the walls that clench them as if trying to suffocate me. Sara groans a deep and guttural noise that surfaces from the constricting muscles of her stomach as her back arches into the touch, encouraging me to force them deeper until my fingertips resume their teasing of her exact spot, thumb working in slow circles against her throbbing clit. I don't shy away from putting unbelievable pressure with my free hand against her lower abdomen, to which she reacts with another groan louder than the one it follows. "Fuck!" It's muffled, but distinguishable beyond her binding. She squirms so adamantly, the veins and tendons in her neck protruding enough to make me believe they're struggling to escape. Her breathing is ragged and inconsistent between whimpers that beg me to give her the push she needs, to which I can't help but oblige. My teeth catch her clit between their grip, not hard enough to force pain upon her, but enough to have her hips jutting upwards against my face inadvertently with a loud gasp for air. I ease up, though only enough to give it suction, almost lost in my own disbelief over the fact that I can feel her throbbing in my mouth. Her fluids slip beyond my hand like a flood that stains my sheets, her body jerking up violently. "Let me cum!" she practically screams, fighting through her restraints that simply will not allow her the power that she's used to. "Tegan, please!"

The pleading is enough to tell me that she's at my mercy, a devious grin spreading across my face as I force my fingers to work faster inside of her. "Say please again. Beg me."

Frustrated whimpers meet my command before she practically kicks her legs at me, going limp against the bed for only a moment before she's back to relentless attempts at escaping to no avail. "Please please please," she hurries through unsteady breath. "Please, Tegan, please."

To see my sister begging, the one who's taken authority and control since we were children, leaves a fire inside of me that I've never felt in my entire thirty two years. I think it's managed to force me into cumming as my lips fall apart slightly to allow a desperate whimper to escape me before my own flood soaks through the material between my legs. Hungry to experience her descent into an orgasmic abyss, I work up to her face, placing scattered kisses against the tape that covers her mouth. "Cum for me," I encourage her, the barrier between us driving her even crazier than before as she forces her hips to meet my fingers in rough thrusts before her entire body is taken over by tension and her head falls back, allowing my teeth access to those deliciously protruding soft spots. She cries out like I've never heard before, almost as if she's struggling to choke back sobs gathering in her throat. Falling against my sheets that she's stained with sinful arousal, Sara struggles to catch her breath as I push the covering over her eyes away. She looks so distant, so dazed, so high.

"Thank you," she finally mumbles as I ease her into an upright position, removing the tape that practically sticks to her, the moisture that gathered on its surface serving as a temporary adhesive. She wastes no time in kissing me with all the feeling she can muster, and I allow myself to greedily soak up her emotion like a sponge. The removal of her cuffs signals the removal of my control, though she's quick to curl up in my arms as if I've released her inner submissive.

My fingers glide through her hair as she sucks on those of my other hand, tasting herself as if she never has before. Her breathing still slowing, her ear finds a place against my chest, listening to its call out for a partner. "I love you," she mumbles, a slight shake of her head following. "And I don't care about Stacy. Let them find out…"

Her words surprise me, and I wonder if the aftershock of such a powerful orgasm has left her a bit lightheaded. But I don't say much more than the reassurance she needs. "No one's going to come between us, Sar. No one."


	11. Chapter 11: All Eyes Are On Us Now

**A/N: My darlings! I apologize 10 million times over for the wait, I know you've likely become accustomed to daily updates! :( But unfortunately I had to surrender to the grip of writer's block until it washed away, and now I present you with the 11th chapter of One Magnet. **

**Let me know what you think in your reviews, as usual, my loves. x**

**-MJ**

**Chapter 11: All Eyes Are On Us Now**

**Sara's POV**

My entire body aches. The coolness of sheets that I so desperately wish would comfort me into a few more hours of sleep is nonexistent—instead they are wrinkled and warm from absorbing emotion and body heat from us in our sleep. And while Tegan's just beside me, mere inches away, I long for her. It's a whirlwind of neediness that I never prepared myself for, seeing that I've never been the one to clingbetween the two of us. That's always been Tegan's job, and it's always been my place and my place alone to keep a level head, to keep the waves of the ocean from pulling us under. It's been my responsibility to keep us afloat, and now I've let us drown…but I have no intention of resurfacing. And truthfully, I hope Tegan doesn't, either.

My fingertips glide against silken skin between bare shoulder blades as she shifts slightly, a small whimper escaping her as she struggles to remain in the cradle of sleep. I know she's tired, and when particularly rough situations such as the one we've unintentionally gotten ourselves into come up, Tegan chooses to hide away from any chance of repercussion in the sanctity of dreams. If I weren't involved, I would allow her to hibernate until our living hell froze over, but selfishly, I don't quite feel sturdy enough to bear through this storm alone. I am the tiny ship that's been lost at sea, watching on as the swells of the tide pull me under. Though here beneath the sheets of my ocean, the fight's been drained away from my being without restore. I've fallen, and for the first time in my life, I want nothing more than to remain in the grasp of my safety net. Forever is a terribly strong word, and its use worries me beyond repair, but in the sleepy atmosphere of Tegan's bedroom as I watch the dust particles drift within the beam of sunlight that frames our forms that have become one on this lazy morning, I'm ready to say it, ready to acknowledge the truth that's been buried beneath doubt and denial. Forever is a commitment I'm willing to make with her by my side.

Something inside of me pushes me against Tegan, the magnetism that's forced our bond since the beginning of time. A bond that she's fancied referring to as a red string of fate, though one I've constantly shunned due to the mere fact that the idea of the red string applies to soul mates created romantically for one another. I understand it now—we've spent the majority of our lives as puzzle pieces desperately attempting to fit into others while ignoring the fact that our matches have been beside us all along. It's corny and a bit cliché, but I won't waste my energy on denial any longer. I'm tired and worn, crawling to my sister in hopes of being replenished, and she does so without a single utterance of annoyance or argument.

When she finally rises from slumber, she isn't hesitant to offer a shower, an offer that I sheepishly agree to without much more than a quiet nod. I've never seen the side of my sister that's as openly romantic and nurturing as the sight I'm seeing now as we step into the shower stall together, our skin slicked over by the warmth of water cascading like a waterfall that hopes to wash the essence of sleep and sex from our bodies. She takes to lathering shampoo into my hair, massaging and working her fingertips through chocolate brown locks that aren't quite as tightly curled as her own. The soap she uses against my skin smells of vanilla…it smells of her as she caresses me like I've never been caressed before, fearful that anything beyond ghosting fingertips may break me. Her touch takes to my skin like a child holding their mother's precious china, carefully taking in details they may have missed while investigating from afar. She pulls me back against her, hands mapping out the careful and meticulous curves that make up my ship that's taken a permanent fancy to her sea. I allow my eyes to close in hopes of strengthening other senses, committing Tegan's gentle grazes and the intoxicating mixture of warm water and vanilla scented steam to a book of memories tucked into the depths of my mind. I want to remember this moment forever—the moment all denial that surrounded our relationship dissipated into thin air.

Turning to face her, I allow our positions to shift, leaving her beneath the showerhead that rains against her gently. She's never looked more beautiful to me as I return the favour of washing her clean of thoughts that pester her mind until she feels serene and totally at peace, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips as our eyes gazes meet. The rhythm of my heart slows as if time itself lags behind with the realizations that surround us, our lips brushing lazily in a kiss meant solely to eliminate longing. I finally feel at ease initiating affectionate gestures, feel at ease noting the way Tegan's warmth against me is the most comforting feeling I've ever been blessed with. But our personal moment of blissful disregard to the rest of the world is short lived when the sound of Tegan's phone ringing drags us from our cover. She looks to me, my face in her hands, water streaming over her face making for the most cleansing sight that I've surely ever laid eyes on.

"Please let it go to voicemail," I say to her quietly, feeling so desperately helpless in the situation we've managed to find ourselves in. I watch as the knot in her throat bobs as she swallows, a discontent tug at the corner of her lips letting me know that I my plea goes unheard as she steps from the shower reluctantly, snaking a towel about her body as she hurries into the bedroom to answer another person's call for her. A heavy sigh escapes me as I rinse my body and hair over once more, following after my twin turned lover after finding her missing warmth in a sunny yellow towel that offers me the comfort I'm actively seeking. In the doorway, I watch as she barely speaks into the receiver, the smiling face I knew just a moment ago disappearing and being replaced by one of grave seriousness. She mumbles a few short answers before offering a defeated goodbye, tossing her mobile onto the surface of unmade sheets and comforters. When our gazes meet, I raise my brows as if to silently inquire, though she simply takes a place on the edge of the mattress and allows her head to fall into her hands, fingers tugging at wet curls in frustration. The sight alone has me by her side in an instant, arm around her to serve as a safety net. "Tee?" I finally speak up cautiously, fingertips grazing back and forth absentmindedly over her side. "Who was that?"

Lifting her head, her expression doesn't turn as she simply mumbles, "Jack."

**Tegan's POV**

Morning had been going so casually, so comfortably until a call from the outside world had to rip us from our alternate reality that my apartment had created for us. Here, away from prying eyes, Sara and I could settle into domestic routine without the worry of disgraced stares and hushed whispers that those on the outside looking in would surely deal to us by the bulk. It was Jack Antonoff ringing; calling to inquire about a rumour his sister had presented him with over dinner the previous night. "It's not the right time to discuss this," he said to me in a tone so serious that it rattled my insides. I knew how close his sister Rachel was with Stacy—those two spend more time together than Sara and Stacy do. Surely my sister's girlfriend hadn't run off to seek solace already; surely the shock was still working its course through her body that I was ready to rip the head off of. Selfishly, I find myself wondering how she could dare do this to Sara, to us. It doesn't even cross my mind that perhaps she's outed our secret in a state of hopeless despair and anguish; it doesn't once cross my mind that perhaps I've hurt those closest to us by taking my sister as my own without a second thought for those who would be effected by it. Sara's fingers have moved from brushing against my side to offer more comfort in between the spaces of my own, interlacing our beings together once more. A warm tide washes over me, one that offers partial relief but simply not enough as I allow my head to fall against her shoulder. I know I should be concerned with worrying her, seeing that she'll surely take more of the backlash between the two of us, but I'm lost in my own selfish conflict and worry that I simply can't allow myself to be anything but fearful for a moment of what's to come over a rash decision my heart wouldn't allow me to pass up. I am selfish and I am impulsive. Whether or not that molds me to fit into the form of a monster that they'll sure paint me up to be, I suppose I don't know. But then again, as I look to my sister who's taken on the nurturer role for now by cradling my trembling body against her own, I wonder if I know much of anything anymore. It seems my decisions as of late have been rash and rushed, hazed and utterly foggy. Of course I love my sister; we've spent practically thirty three years forced at each other's sides. We were bound by the red string of fate long before we had a voice to decline, the pull far too tight to slip from. But now we've become ruins without a strong hand to repair us—a job that is usually my own though I am incapable of fulfilling. Who saves the heroes when they're in distress?

"Jack wants to have a word when we get to Coachella," I finally say to Sara as I allow myself to fall back against the bed, clutching the towel to my body as if allowing her to see my body would only further the injuries I'm sustaining by waging war within myself. I allow the bed to sway me as its crashing tides make a wave of nausea take me under, reminding myself that despite the fact that I may be the ocean, I am not excluded from the strength of riptides. And as I open my eyes that I shut in fear of seasickness, I turn to catch a glimpse of Sara as she lies beside me, her head resting against my chest, arm draping across my waist. I come to the realization, there in my bedroom that was meant to share with any lover other than my own sister, that she is my riptide. That magnetism, that alluring pull that I cannot fight, that suffocating craving that fills my lungs until I can no longer breathe on my own. What terrifies me the most as we lie there, still and as lifeless as I feel, I come to understand that something deep within me forces this. It forces me to love her, forces me to need her, forces me to crave that drowning sensation that leaves me helpless and weak without fail. Few times I've contemplated the real sensation of true love, assuming that the neediness within me was enough reasoning to believe I was head over heels for whoever had the strength to put up with it. A coast guard, if you will, that attempted to keep me from being submerged, though when I consistently relinquished power to my own tides, I was left to fend for myself. But here, in the middle of my own mess, surfaced my sister to assist in my drowning. Further and further I went, and now happily sinking, I'm unsure of whether or not I should feel concern. The way she looks at me says loving, says gentle, says compassion that I've never witnessed before in a gaze directed upon me. With the brush of nimble fingertips against my jawline, I understand that no one has ever caressed me as if they were caressing timeless porcelain, willing to repair my chips with care. In a tender kiss to my lips that leaves my heart to skip beats in hopes of calling out for her to rescue me once again, I can feel the energy transferring between two souls aching to rekindle. My hands take to the nape of her neck, pleading for her to keep from reeling too far. I want to cling, just as I always have, hoping that if I cling hard enough, I can disappear into her and away from the world that I've forced to crumble around me.

"I don't want to leave the bedroom, Sar," I say to her, my voice shaking and coming close to a whimper as I struggle to squeeze the stinging from my eyes that prickling tears are bringing on. "I don't want to do this anymore…"

Sara holds herself above me, hands on either side of my shoulders as the rest of her body rests against mine, her warmth consoling my dwindling spirit. Scattered and gentle kisses find their way to my forehead, cheeks, eyes, nose, anywhere that they can be placed before she mumbles to me so quietly that I barely catch her words. "Shh…nothing's going to happen, okay. Everything's going to be fine."

The disturbance in our usual routine leaves me feeling slightly shaken, knowing that I've quite often taken to reassuring Sara as she nursed her wounds. But the way she breathes so calmly, the way her fingers ease through my curls that are steadily drying against tussled sheets, have my pounding heart beginning to slow in time. "What we do is our business and our business only. It isn't like Stacy has photos she shouldn't have or proof that she can throw out to whoever will take it, hmm?" Her hand rests against my cheek before she taps it lovingly, encouraging me to open my eyes. "Look at me, Tee."

I open my eyes reluctantly, still feeling the burning of salty tears threatening to fall at any moment as they meet identical orbs overhead. Sara's expression has become a bit sterner now, though in a way that means no harm, more so to jostle me into understanding her point if anything. "Nothing's going to take me away from you. But that doesn't mean that this is going to be smooth and easy…and I know you know that. It's going to be a lot of sneaking around and…well…pretending like there isn't anything there at all."

"But—"I try to speak up, my voice cracking beneath the weight of my rushing thoughts. I mean to ask her how on Earth I'm supposed to convey anything other than love towards her now that we've released our proclamation into the open between us, but she stops me in my tracks.

"Don't interrupt me. Just listen, alright? I love you, Tegan. I love you more than a sister should love her sister, but I'm looking past that because it still makes me feel on edge. My point is that you know this isn't going to be easy. We're not going to be able to be one of those couples that you gush over day in and out. We can't walk around hand in hand at festivals, we can't snuggle in public, and we can't give anyone any reason to suspect that anything other than siblinghood is going on here…I know that hurts but…Tegan, its illegal. What we're doing is illegal. Moreover, it's immoral and if our fans found out, we'd be done for. Forever…and I can't let this tear us apart. We've worked so hard for this, it's been our dream for years and years and now we're just starting to get recognized for it…we can't throw it away now, Tee."

My lower lip begins to quiver as my heart and mind are at it once again, struggling for the right of full comprehension though forcing me to take her words in two totally separate directions. My mind understands her logic, understands the fact that we're doomed to sneak around for the rest of eternity if this is what we're destined to keep. My heart on the other hand, my sensitive little muscle that wishes it were stronger, takes great offense as if each word were a flaming sword looking to sever the connection the strings between it and her own have created as a bridge of refuge. I'm left to fend for myself; standing before a train of thought as it comes barreling towards me. I try to fight the tears, damning my overly sensitive soul as they begin to stream down my cheeks, forcing me to turn away from Sara and onto my stomach where I bury my face in the sheets that still carry her scent, the wetness of my tears blending with the wet patches my hair has left in its wake. "I just want to be alone right now, Sar," I mutter between struggles to hold back full on sob. "Go grab coffee or something…please."

A disgruntled breath passes through Sara's lips as she pushes to her knees and away from me, the magnetic pull making me feel as if I'm being pulled along with her. I cling to the comfort of my bed though, allowing her to separate though a moment before I was clawing at her to keep her from straying. I don't know what it is that I want, though I'm not terribly unfamiliar with the angst ridden feeling of confusion as I burrow beneath my blankets that carry love letters left by Sara's skin against them, pressing them into me as I seek out artificial warmth. I listen to the sound of fabric and its friction against her as she dresses in the bathroom before shrugging a jacket on to brave Vancouver's late winter. She doesn't say a word as she disappears out the front door, the sound of it falling closed echoing through my empty apartment.

She's been gone only a moment before I'm missing her like I've never missed her before.

**Sara's POV**

I understand that Tegan needs her space, but as my feet carry me along the sidewalks of Vancouver to a coffee shop just up the road, I can't help but scorn her internally for such childish and selfish behaviour. What did I expect, anyway? I've spent my entire life watching Tegan work her charming charisma to the public eye only to dissipate completely into a cloud of hopeless emotion that refuses all feelings aside from angst and general negativity. _She'll never mature into a full on adult when it comes to her emotions,_ I tell myself_. She'll always be a grief stricken teenager._

I had no intention of leaving her bed, but the way she turned her shoulders to me was enough to push me out for fresh air to clear my head with. The breeze is brisk as it pushes through hair I didn't bother to fix or manage, my bony fingers wrapping my jacket even closer to hug my petite frame. But just as I'm arriving at my destination, I feel the familiar buzzing of my cell in my pocket, forcing me to reach for it in hopes that it's Tegan asking sheepishly for me to return with something for her. But as fate's cruel self enjoys being such a feisty bitch to me, it's none other than Stacy ringing. Reluctantly, I slide my thumb upwards against the touch screen, bringing the receiver upwards until resting against the side of my face. "Hello?"

"Oh, nice to see I don't have to listen in on any more surprises this morning," comes Stacy's voice, bitter with betrayal. I don't even begin to attempt holding back an exasperated sigh as I lean back against the brick wall of the coffee shop, crossing my free arm against my waist. "What do you need, Stacy."

"What do I need?!" she practically yells into my ear before a scoff escapes her. "What I need is for you to tell me what the fuck is going on in Vancouver and why the hell I'm sitting in fucking Austin waiting for you while you're off rendezvousing with your sister!"

"I don't know what you're talking about." My voice remains flat, inattentive, and cooler than usual as if to tell her that I could care less about the lashing she's struggling to give me with her words. She wants me to be afraid; she wants me to beg her for something that I'm unaware of. I won't allow her to sense the fear, though admittedly it's burning up in the pit of my stomach and slowly becoming bitter tasting bile in the back of my throat. Snarling, she practically growls into my ear before barking, "I know what the fuck you're doing up there, you sick little slut. You just wait until Lindsey finds out. We'll see how much Tegan loves you then."

Without warning, the call is disconnected, leaving me to listen to a buzzing tone before I myself tuck my phone back into its place in my oversized jacket, wandering into the coffee shop in a daze as her words echo through my ears.

_You just wait until Lindsey finds out. We'll see how much Tegan loves you then._


	12. Chapter 12: In the Land of Gods&Monsters

**A/N: After a small hiatus, I've tried my hand at chapter 12 of One Magnet. Sorry if it isn't what you were expecting, I'm having an unbelievable struggle keeping a grip on my muse. (Wah wah.) Thanks for being patient, my darlings. I hope you understand that I always try to put quality over quantity, so rather than forcing out multiple chapters of garbage, I'm trying to pace myself to give you something readable. So, updates will be slow, but I hope they're worth the wait! x**

**Chapter 12: In the Land of Gods & Monsters**

**Tegan's POV**

I took the duration of the practically three hour flight from Vancouver to Vegas to catch up on much needed sleep, knowing that this second leg of tour would leave me in a state similar to the zombies on that show The Walking Dead. Sara, on the other hand, took to usual routine, nose deep in the worn pages of a book she's read a thousand times over to remove her mentally from the discomfort flying causes her. Head resting against the window that looks out over hundreds of pillow like clouds, my dreams carry me onto them, wishing that I could disappear into the vast empty blue of the sky that mirrors the idea of water thousands of feet beneath it. Though we've done this countless times, this particular flight has my stomach churning with anxiety, despite the knowledge that my nerves aren't being caused by our method of travel. The cause behind relentless knotting is none other than the idea of having to face outsiders who have become aware of Sara and I's taboo doings behind closed doors, the idea of having to face Stacy, Jack, and now Lindsey; people that we have befriended, confided in, fallen for, cried with, cried _over…_it all seems so dizzying. I'm not entirely sure of how Sara's taking it all, as she leaves her cool and collected mannerisms on display for all to see. I try so hard to follow suit, but the moment we set foot in the terminal of McCarran, I may as well fall to ruins as I'm swallowed whole by the suffocating embrace of my lover who has not the slightest clue that she is the former. Her fingertips brush through razor cut hair against the back of my head until they rest comfortably in a spot on the nape of my neck before pressing scattered kisses meant to display the utmost affection against the side of my face. She's mumbling something as she sways us back and forth, though my attention lingers on Sara and her stiff interaction with Stacy. They struggle to appear normal to those looking on, though I can see that my twin's arms refuse to make contact with Stacy's taller frame as they hug fraudulently. They look so broken, a relationship that's fallen to shit due to my own selfish needs…

"I missed you so much, baby…"

Lindsey's voice brings me back as she reels away just enough to look into my eyes that surely appear glazed over, though it's nowhere near a new sight to her. My face cupped in her hands, she presses a gentle kiss against my lips that I shamefully compare to Sara's, noting the lack of spark and sweetness that simply no one can match. The sinking feeling in the pit of my gut only worsens as I notice the effortless love and admiration shimmering in my girl's eyes, though I suppose I have no right to call her mine any longer. She's so blissfully unaware and it's killing me. She has not the slightest idea that the heart she believed (and still believes) belongs to her has in fact never been in her possession, unaware that it in fact has been boxed and locked for safe keeping in the confines of Sara's chest. I already yearn for her touch and she's barely standing ten feet from me, the sourness of her expression letting me know that she's in dire need of rescuing. I want to go to her.

But I can't.

**Sara's POV**

Tegan seems to be living the dream in comparison to my hellish return to Stacy. We move like large masses of ice against one another, icebergs being forced together by the current of the world around us. She embraces me for the charade, though her claws sink into the small of my back in hopes of distributing pain upon me that I have obviously dumped upon her. The disgust of it all has me stepping away, reaching for the handle of my suitcase as my gaze struggles to find anything but the showering of love upon my sister by somebody other than myself. I know not to be jealous, know that Tegan would never pick Lindsey in lieu of me, though Stacy has taken to reminding me of her thoughts as her arm snakes about my waist like a ball and chain, tugging me into her roughly as we begin walking. "Remember what I said on the phone the other day?" she asks, a devilish smirk tugging at the corner of lips that I at one time could never get enough of. The smile is so obviously placed in attempt of masking the betrayal she feels as I stay silent, our footsteps out of sync as we struggle to walk together. "She'll pick Lindsey over you, Sara. I always took you for the smarter twin but if you think she'd drop LB in the public eye, you're not as bright as I thought you were."

I hold my tongue as her words stab into my frame no longer protected by my trusted leather jacket, a second skin I've had to shed due to the change in weather. It's practically 80 degrees here, whereas Vancouver was thirty degrees cooler, rainy, and all around dreary. On any other day in any other situation, I would have welcomed the rays of sun that shine down against my skin as we step outside into the open air, though I feel now as if the burning of Stacy's presence is plenty more than enough. I can't help my craving to simply delve beneath covers of hotel beds in hopes of hiding out somewhere that no one can find me. Not even Tegan.

**Tegan's POV**

Sara and I take separate cabs to the hotel, which happens to be one of the snazzier, more upper class hotels that we've stayed in. The staff is both cordial and quick to help, and while I'm rather exhausted, I insist on taking my own luggage rather than allowing one of the teenage bellhops to do so for me. Mum has done nothing but drill into Sara and I's brains over the years that there is nothing more important in this business than to remain both professional and humble, to which I believe I live up to, and to the utmost degree. It's those reasons exactly why we stay late after shows in hopes of catching up on bonding time with our fans, why we're always more than willing to stop for a picture of a quick chat if we have the time to. And while I offer a few panicking and scatterbrained fans a wave as we pass, I don't feel that now is appropriate timing to sit around for a pow wow. It seems Sara does the same as the four of us crowd into an elevator, uncomfortable silence hanging heavily in the air that we're all struggling to breathe. But Lindsey, poor Lindsey, is the first to break the deafening quiet as the elevator passes each floor with incredible lag.

"So how was your flight, guys? The weather's gorgeous here, huh? Probably a lot better than Vancouver?"

Sara and I exchange glances before I nod meekly. "Yeah it's nice," I say rather flatly, unsure of what else there is to say. Stacy's taken to ripping me to shreds with her beady eyes as I struggle to avoid confrontation, though it's becoming increasingly difficult to deter my thoughts. The 11th floor allows us an escape, Sara practically bolting into the hallway with the rest of us in tow. I stay close to Lindsey as her fingers lovingly intertwine with my own; the action forcing my heart to sink into my toes when I come to the realization that she likely cannot sense the fact that the love that she's radiating towards me is not met with equal love—rather, it's met with hesitation, shame, and endless guilt. Stacy refuses to stop her relentless glares over her shoulder as we near the first room, room 1132 that the girls will be sharing. I watch as Lindsey makes an extra effort to keep a hold on my hand as she reaches back, digging into a side pocket of her backpack until she finds her key card. The three of us watch on as she slides it into the handle, watching the green light illuminate before allowing her entrance. Stacy releases her grip on Sara reluctantly, Lindsey doing the same with my hand after reeling me in for a gentle peck on the lips. I can see my sister cringe in the periphery of my vision, knowing that the affection, regardless of whether I'm returning it or not, surely leaves her feeling a ping of jealousy that cannot be denied.

"It's about 5:30, so did you guys wanna go drop your bags in your room and then we can head to dinner? And then we can go walk around a bit, I'm sure you guys wanna enjoy the weather, hmm?" My eyes move to Sara, who's taken to shifting her weight from one foot to the other uncomfortably, nodding when she realizes we've all looked to her for a final decision. She stops her movement abruptly before doing so, clearing her throat and attempting to look more gathered than she feels. "S-sure," she stutters, and in that moment I swear I've never been so anxious to get away from our partners in my life. I can feel Stacy's glare ripping through the protective barriers I've surrounded myself with as I start up the hall with Sara in tow to our room a few doors down, feeling as if my knees may give out from the weight of burden heavy against tired shoulders.

**Sara's POV**

I've never had the pleasure of sitting through such a delightfully uncomfortable dinner until tonight, and I almost wish I could turn to Stacy, who sits directly beside me, and thank her for deliberately casting me out into a sea of my own misery. Rather than pay mind to the multiple awkward pauses that riddle the lame conversation being exchanged between Tegan, Lindsey, Stacy, and now Rachel and Jack Antonoff who have apparently appeared while my thoughts lingered elsewhere, I instead decide to focus on how stiff this entire situation is. I've never been one for fancy restaurants, but I suppose I shouldn't have expected any less of my one time partner and Vegas. I know this wasn't LB's choice, after all—she's just as laid back and casual as my sister, if not more so. Rachel and Stacy, however, are wannabe socialites from upstate New York who ride on the coattails of their famous and semi-famous kin, if Stacy could even consider me kin. The thought alone makes my stomach churn, forcing me into shifting in the booth that I share with her, the fabric of my black dress pants brushing against the skin of her thigh revealed by her skirt. I catch her glimpsing over in the periphery of my vision, but do nothing more than clear my throat and hope for relief in the wine glass I find myself lifting to my dry lips.

"So Sara…"

The sound of my name derails my train of thought as I finally allow my eyes to meet Jack's, who sits beside Lindsey across the table. "How's tour been?"

Christ, I'm so tired of this question. I wish I could snap back at him, ask him how tired he is of hearing redundant curiosities from those who truly don't care. Instead, I rub at the nape of my neck and nod before offering up a shrug, setting my glass down against the polished surface of our table.

"It's uh…it's been a bit busier than we're used to but I suppose busy is better than boring," I reply flatly, not necessarily interested in faking enthusiasm at the moment. Tegan seems to be listening despite the fact that she's pretending to be engulfed in a conversation with Rachel and Lindsey, her eyes continuously finding their way back to me, glimmering with concern. The small candles that serve as a centerpiece flicker and tremble in the heavy air, and the food placed before us all seems to go untouched and perhaps even unnoticed. It's simply drink after drink after drink, hoping that the alcohol will allow for a loosening of ties and sighs of relief, maybe even a laugh here and there. But I can't do much more than push my food around with a fork that I've taken into my grip, tensing even more each time Stacy's voice crashes into my ears. Words are exchanged in conversations that hold little to no meaning and that happen to be going absolutely nowhere, and as I glance over at Lindsey, I can feel the knots in my heartstrings forming. She truly is clueless to the awkward situation that the rest of us find ourselves in, seeing that she has not the slightest clue. Her arm stays draped affectionately about Tegan's shoulders, an occasional kiss to the cheek reminding the both of us of the things we've destroyed for our own selfish needs. I can see the sadness and shame in her eyes, despite the fact that she refuses to make eye contact with me, as if it would tip Lindsey off to our infidelity. I can honestly say that I'm beyond surprised that Stacy has yet to let her in on our little secret, seeing that it's incredibly obvious that everyone else at the table has been filled in.

"Hey LB," Stacy's voice rises over the clinking of glasses and silverware, once again capturing my reluctant attention. "Weren't you going to make an announcement?"

My eyes finally make it up from the deep red wine in my glass, brows furrowed as all attention turns towards Lindsey. Her face flushes slightly before she clears her throat, shooting Stacy a look as if to suggest that she had ruined some sort of surprise. Tegan and I exchange a nervous glance before Lindsey gives my sister's shoulder a squeeze, turning to her as if the entire restaurant had ceased to exist in this moment. She wants so badly for it to be one laced with intimacy—I can tell by the enamored glaze that seals her eyes. If I wasn't feeling sick before, I think I may vomit now.

"Tegan," Lindsey starts, her voice gentle with sincerity. Their fingers interlock, though the bitterness within me makes note of how they are incapable of mending perfectly as mine do with Tegan's. "I know it's a bit early since you'll be on tour until September but I thought maybe giving you time to think it through would be the best idea, so…"

Oh god, I'm going to throw up. Right here at the table. All over Stacy's nice clothes that she bought at some hipster boutique in upstate New York while splurging her paycheck with Rachel in tow, I'm sure. I'm dizzy. I can't breathe. My chest is constricting beyond my control. Lindsey's going to propose, I can feel it in my boiling blood that's slowly but surely draining from my spinning head and pooling in my feet. I'm going to throw up, I'm going to throw up, I'm going to throw up…

"Will you move to LA with me…? Permanently, I mean?"

…What did she say? I can't bring myself to listen; my eyes are glued to Tegan, desperate for a subtle and unspoken promise. She shifts uncomfortably as the table falls deafeningly silent, eagerly awaiting an answer that I can tell she doesn't have. Tegan's been a people pleaser since the day we were born, our mother willing to bet that it's been even longer. I can tell by the look in her eyes that she's at war with herself behind the shield of a weak smile, refusing to meet my gaze as she gives Lindsey a meek nod, her smile tugging farther though growing increasingly unsure as our company bursts into jovial celebration, clinking glasses as a toast to the future Tegan's apparently decided seems better written without me. My sickness isn't aided by Stacy leaning closer, lips brushing against my ear as she whispers maliciously, "I told you she'd never choose you over Lindsey. Can't hold onto 'em forever, _baby_."

**Tegan's POV**

The entire gathering is in shambles faster than I expected as Sara bolts for the bathroom with Lindsey, Rachel, and Stacy in tow. It leaves me shifting in deafening silence as Jack tries for a joke, an awkward "that escalated quickly" tumbling from his lips after an even more awkward chuckle that is muted by a glass lifted to his mouth. I'm unsure of what's upset her more—the fact that Lindsey's asked me to move to LA with her, or the fact that I inadvertently agreed to do so in front of three witnesses aware of our taboo rendezvousing. I finish off the rum and coke in front of me before pushing a hand through my hair in frustration, a heavy sigh of distress escaping me. I try to stay parked in my seat, but with every moment that passes, I grow more and more worried about my sister turned lover who I've likely just cut to the core, surrounded by people who she wants nothing to do with. Taking the napkin from my lap, I toss it onto the table before sliding from my place in the booth, not even offering Jack an excuse for my exit. I find my way to the bathroom that Sara's disappeared to in a daze, pushing past people without so much as an apology. I need to fix this. Everything needs to be put to an end.

"Sara," I call out as I barrel through the restroom door, my presence being met with a glare from Rachel a meek smile from Lindsey. It isn't long before I hear Sara's voice coming through the door of one of the stalls, shrill with disgust. "Get out!" It's only followed by her one time lover stumbling out backwards as if my sister's pushed her, the expressions on our company's faces just as surprised as Stacy's. But Stacy, that fucking idiot, has found momentary courage in one too many drinks as she slams a fist against the door of Sara's stall, shooting me a devious glare before turning to Lindsey. "Y'know what, Sara? I've had enough of your shit. I think it's time that we fill Lindsey in on the little secret you've been keeping, huh?"

I can physically feel my heart shatter and fall to pieces, collecting in my toes that have curled in hopes of bracing me for the destructive wave preparing to hit. She's really going to do it. She's going to ruin us out of bitterness. Ruin our career. Ruin my relationship. Ruin everything. It's over. It's all over.

Lindsey's eyes move to me, her smile fading as her gaze glazes over with worry. "Tee…?" she starts. "What's all this about?"

She wants me to dig my way out of this, shrug it off as a misunderstanding, a miscommunication. But I can't. Not this time. Stacy got an earful of me fucking her girlfriend, an earful of me fucking my own sister into oblivion and beyond. How is that explained away? I do nothing more than brace myself as Sara forces herself out of the stall, makeup staining her cheeks as it mixes with fresh tears. "Don't you fucking dare bring Lindsey into this!" she screams, finger pointed in Stacy's face as she lunges towards her. "Just because I fucked up our relationship doesn't mean that you have any place to tell Lindsey anything!"

I can see the pain etched into Sara's face in worry lines on her forehead and bags beneath her eyes swollen from crying. But Stacy simply chuckles bitterly before grabbing at my sister's wrist and forcing her hand away. "Oh sweetheart, you ruined Lindsey's relationship, too. I think she deserves to know."

What do I do? How do I stop this? Just as LB looked to me for comfort, Sara's looking to me with pleading eyes, begging me to bring this rollercoaster to a screeching halt. But like a deer in the headlights, I can do nothing more than watch on as the train wreck begins, Stacy's words spewing from her drunken lips like knives desperate to rip Lindsey to shreds along with her.

"I called Sara after she left Austin for Vancouver to go see Tegan," she starts. "And when I called, I heard someone moaning and the phone being jumbled around. Y'know, like she was fucking someone." A bitter chuckle escapes her that takes the form of a scoff before continuing. "And y'know whose name came out of her fucking mouth?"

Sara's eyes beg me silently one last time before our life is unraveled permanently, but the most I can do is reduce into a pathetic and begging puddle at Stacy's feet. "Stacy, please…" I try, my voice cracking beneath the weight of pressure. "Please don't."

My begging goes unanswered as the longest, most unsettling pause of my life drowns us in static, the entire world slowing to a practical stop as my ears begin to ring. I watch as Stacy's lips move in slow motion, forming out my name to reveal our secret to the only person who has stayed by my side through my highest of highs and lowest of lows.

"Tegan's."

And with one uttering of my name, it's all over. Our charade falls to ruins just as Sara's frail frame falls to the floor with gasps that pierce the heavy air, chest heaving as I fall to my knees at her side, digging through the pocket of her jacket in search of her rescue inhaler. I'm not religious, but I'm willing to pray for her safety right now if it means anything. I've lost everything with the drop of my name. Please don't take her from me, too.


	13. Chapter 13: Cover

**A/N: ...I didn't proofread. Sorry. :(**

**Chapter 13: Cover**

**Tegan's POV**

I hate hospitals. They've terrified me since we were children, since the time Sara had fallen from a jungle gym and split her forehead open in grade three. She had needed stiches then, and I recall cringing in my mother's lap as they placed them one by one, a nine year old Sara struggling to keep the tears back as she clung to her favourite bear. I remember telling her that she looked like him, seeing that our grandmother had sewn his leg to keep stuffing from seeping out—I remember how frustrated that comment had made Sara, despite the fact that I had only been attempting to take her attention away from the discomfort she was feeling. She called her bear Joey, a tribute to Joey McIntyre, something I'm sure she would have kept stowed away to this day had she not misplaced him during a move later that year. Even now as I sit beside her bed in the emergency room, keeping my eyes averted from the IV in her arm, I make an attempt to lift her spirits when it's only the two of us in the room.

"Remember your bear Joey?"

Her eyes meet mine tiredly, though she offers up a small smile behind the mask providing her with extra oxygen. "He wasn't just a bear; he was my grade three boyfriend."

"Even while you were dating Christina?" I ask with a chuckle, one that is quickly returned and that we share for a moment before Sara corrects me.

"Yeah, but then mum misplaced him and Michael down the street gave me hockey cards and the void was filled once again."

A pause comes along to linger in the space separating us as I begin to toy with the laces of my boot. I almost wish that this moment would offer up the solace of childhood innocence, nostalgia in the physical form of Joey. I wish that I could shimmy him from side to side against the blanket resting over her and sing the lyrics of an old New Kids song to the best of my ability, but I can't. Everything seems so horribly bittersweet in this room as the beeping of a heart rate monitor keeping tabs on Sara reminds me that a heart I cherish is hurting, weakened, slowing. Partially from the medication swimming through her veins, continuously offered by a needle plunged into the crook of her arm that will be bruised when it's removed. _A bad panic attack_, the doctors told me. _The fact that she has respiratory issues doesn't help much. An Ativan drip and some oxygen will calm her down and you'll be on your way._

I wish the Ativan was truly all we needed to rectify our situation.

A deep breath leaves me inhaling the putrid scent of disinfectant. It leaves my stomach churning, stinging the insides of my nostrils. I force myself to find balance on unsteady feet as I stand, clearing my throat before adjusting the bunched hem of an expensive dress shirt back to its proper place. "I'm going to grab water from the vending machine," I tell Sara, sure that my discomfort is etched into my expression though I do my best to hide it. "Are you alright to be here for a few minutes?"

She nods, though her response is delayed as her eyelids gradually become heavier. The medication must be kicking in, and I can't be more grateful. Between the two of us, Sara shoulders the majority of our collective anxiety. If an intravenous stream of sedatives is what it takes to momentarily calm her and blur this trainwreck from her vision, then so be it.

I step past the curtain that offers her the slightest bit of privacy and head up the hallway that bustles with passing white coats and teal scrubs that become a sea of unfamiliar faces as I attempt to sail through unscathed. The mere idea of hospitals has my nerves unraveling more than they already are, despite the fact that my mum's always been adamant about attempting to help me recall that there's no safer place to be than here. Logically, she's right. If something were to happen, a sudden deterioration of my system, I suppose this would be the best place for it to occur. But as my trembling fingers ease a wrinkled dollar into the machine, my attention staggers with the feeling of a firm hand against the space between my shoulder blades. Frightened and on edge, I jump. I swear my feet part ways with the tile floor beneath me momentarily. Turning on my heels, I find myself face to face with none other than Lindsey. She's been crying, I can tell by the swelling in her lovely eyes that I shamefully no longer feel familiar with. I try desperately to catch a steady breath, though it slips through starving lips into shriveling lungs with trembling fear, and it shows. I'm a wreck I'm sure, back flat against the vending machine as if I'm an animal who's been cornered. Terrified, I wonder if being sucked into an eternal void is an option here. Dealing with Stacy is practically welcomed in place of this meeting. I can't knowingly break Lindsey. Not after everything I've dragged her through. Five years of reckless treatment of such a miraculously golden heart, one that's beat in place of my own when it opted to fail without warning. She loves me so wholly, and I can practically feel the tears inside of her threatening to force their way beyond the floodgates of her eyelids. She's hurting, destroyed even, and needs a safe place to crumble. A safe place that at one point was an embrace only offered by my strong arms; a space that has surely become a war zone as of late, one that she isn't at all interested in entering, and I can't necessarily say that I blame her. How can I blame her?

"Can we talk?" she asks, and oh, the way that her voice cracks beneath the weight of unbearable loss and betrayal makes me cringe.

With a mere nod, she leads me into a nearby waiting room that can't hold many more than 10 chairs along its forest green walls. It's incredibly small, cramped…claustrophobic, even. In the rough carpeting below my feet, I can see trails worn into the tightly woven material, sensing the anxiousness of previous lovers, families, and friends hoping to avoid any bearing of bad news. This room is lined with undisputable amounts of grief, loss, sadness. I almost wonder if Lindsey chose it on purpose.

"…Is it true?"

Lindsey's voice creeps through the heavy air with great trepidation, as if still holding onto some sliver of hope that our newly revealed secret was nothing more than jealous fabrication. Oh, how I wish it was just some sort of intricately woven fabrication at times like these where the pleading in her eyes make me feel as if I'm drowning. Her lashes, melded together by a blend of fresh and stale tears, expose the bottomless confusion that I've cast her into alone. I wish that I could lie to her. I wish that I could easily and shamelessly just drift beneath the radar of my morals as I've done in regards to my affair with Sara. But how do I even begin to lie to Lindsey when her fingers loosely though still so tenderly intertwine with my own? She hopes that I'll rescue her from the riptides, but she's doing nothing more than trusting their guidance by easing closer. I am a riptide, engulfed by the spiraling of my own selfish need. Sara was the first to be taken under—Lindsey can't be next. I have to stop this. I have to let her go…if not for my own good, for her own good. She doesn't deserve this. She's spent years waiting next to telephones, shacking up in computer cafes, globetrotting in my footsteps hoping for the moment of peace where she felt it was all worth the undeniable trouble. Hoping for the morning where the tide wouldn't pull her under, where she'd instead be embraced by the ebb and flow rather than offered a lungful of water that left her insides itching with prickling sea salt. As desperately as I wish that I could offer her such luxury, it simply isn't written into our future. By no one's fault but my own, I've managed to destroy the sanctity of two relationships with nothing more than my insatiable desire for someone I'll never truly be able to hold a future with. No marriage, no children, but more importantly, no career to keep us afloat. Everything we've worked for, struggled through…it's all down the drain from here…

"I wish you would have told me. Not Stacy."

I'm brought back from the early shadows of self-pity by Lindsey's ever shining light, warmth that's offered me solace time and time again, regardless of whether or not it's deserved. Our gazes meet, mine sunken and apologetic, hers soft and understanding. The smile tugging at the corner of her lips is weary, though still exists nonetheless. The expression her face carries says it all—'_I know.' _

She knows.

"We were never meant to be, Teegs," she continues, her voice softer than mine will ever be capable of being. My face framed by her hands, she pushes fallen curls from my forehead to get a proper look at me, her gaze still lined with admiration. "You spent how many years chasing after me? You should never have to chase your partner in crime."

I can't keep guard up any longer. The sob that her words elicit from me is nothing short of heart wrenchingly pathetic as I deteriorate against her, collapsing into her embrace as my knees fail to provide support for my trembling body. And rather than allow me to crumble alone, she crumbles with me, a second river of tears taking to the curves of her face that she's buried in my hair.

"I'm so sorry," I manage to whimper between ragged breaths, the scent of my second home knitted into her clothes. "It's…it's not that I don't love you, I…I just…"

"Sara's your soulmate," she finishes for me, her voice so much steadier than my own. How, in such a terribly selfish moment of mine, can she manage to provide comfort when it isn't deserved? The realization that I'm offered leaves a second wave of emotion to slam into my framework, leaving me weaker than I've ever been. Sara's my soulmate, my other half that I feel I've lost while being split into two separate beings before birth. A kindred spirit that's formed into a physical being outside of my body, one willing to take each path that I wander, regardless of treachery that may lie ahead. Her method of display may be less than obvious at times, but Sara loves me with every fiber of her being that's been taken from my DNA and stitched into hers.

"Go back to her so she's not having another panic attack," Lindsey mumbles with a few gentle claps of her hand to my back as encouragement. "We're okay, Tegan. And I'm not going to let Stacy spread this around." When I reel away, my face must scream my obvious confusion and disbelief. Not only is she accepting of the fate that we've met, she's willing to cover for Sara and I? I'm starting to wonder if an allergic reaction to the heavy scent of disinfectant is possible, and if hallucinations are a symptom.

"Wh-…what?" She's reduced me to nothing more than a babbling idiot with her words, mouth agape.

"Go, Tegan," moving towards the door, she eases it open with nothing more than a final, "As far as the rest of the world knows, I'm still your girlfriend."

**Sara's POV**

I wish that I could force Tegan into shouldering the blame for this entire debacle. The mere thought of what is to come now that our secret has been exposed leaves my heavy heart pounding against the confines of my chest as fast as it possibly can under the sedation of intravenous medication, though not fast enough to cause it's monitor attached to my index finger to alert nearby nurses and doctors of its increased pace. I can hear the beeping counting off beats one by one, and while the physical symptoms of my panic have lessened, the anxious mentality is still incredibly real. Where has she gone off to, anyway? Surely it doesn't take that long to find water. But as if summoned, Tegan appears with a meek smile tugging at the corner of her lips as our gazes meet. She looked worn, worried...and has returned without water in hand.

"Hey."

Her voice is just as meek as it seems it should be as she takes to sitting on the corner of the bed, gaze lingering on the tile flooring beneath her feet that tap against it. Cautiously, I begin to prod. "No water?"

"Well uh…" She's nervous; I can tell by the way that her fingertips drum against her thighs. "Lindsey…Lindsey came and found me at the vending machine and wanted to have a talk so…that's why I was a little longer than I intended…"

She looks up with concern etched into her features as the machine keeping track of my heart rate begins to ding and beep. I'm amazed that it calms as instantly as her fingertips reach for mine, lacing our digits together for a moment of peace in this relentless chaos. Her smile turns from small to reassuring as the soft padding of her thumb grazes the back of my hand. "It's okay. She…" she shrugs, a small scoff like laugh escaping her parted lips. Dumbfounded, she explains, "She knew. She…she gets it."

My brows furrow in immediate confusion. Have I heard Tegan wrong? It's the medication, I know it. I've begun hallucinating. My body doesn't handle sedatives well; it never has.

"…What?"

Tegan lets out a laugh before putting her signature gummy grin on display, giving my hand a gentle squeeze. "Sar...she…she already knew. And…" I can see the glistening beginning to layer over those honey-colored orbs that I've come to adore so much, and I can only hope that the tears threatening to trail from the corners of her eyes are tears of relief. "She said she wasn't going to let Stacy destroy us and everything that we've worked so hard for…" I don't refrain from reaching for her, brushing away tears that have strayed from the dams of her eyelids to cascade down her cheeks. I don't refrain from allowing myself the relief of crying, my tears mirroring her own as a crushing burden is removed from our shoulders that tremble as Tegan draws me into her arms. She begins to crumble, though in the healthiest of ways since this entire situation began. What we believed would be the end has truly become nothing but the beginning, and as my embrace around her tightens, I make a promise to her that I've never made to another being on this planet.

"No matter what happens, Tegan, I'm always going to stay right by your side." I can feel her fingertips gripping at fabric of my shirt against my lower back for dear life, as if my words are not enough to keep her afloat. I ease my hands through disheveled curls atop her head as I continue, pressing intermittent kisses wherever I can place them. "We've been through hell and back these past thirty two years, and even when you drive me nuts, I can't imagine being without you."

Tegan's openly weeping into my shoulder now, her grip on my shirt tightening as her entire frame shakes from the intensity of her emotions. I don't fight the urge to cling, instead burying myself so far into her that I believe it's possible to disappear completely. "I love you so much that the idea of losing you was physically killing me," she chokes out between sobs. "I…I'd throw all of this away if it meant keeping you, Sar. I would throw it all away in an instant."

"You don't have to now," I reassure her quietly, though I know that her intent is simply to let me know how much I mean to her. Sure to return the favor, I place a kiss against the top of her head before mumbling, "But I'd throw it all away for you too, Tee." My confession leaves my heartstrings up in knots, merely for the fact that I'm forced to realize just how crazy I am for the one I was never supposed to call my own. It leaves me aching over the fact that I have the ability to both love and hate her all at once, the ability to build and break her if I choose. Two souls meant to be one, detached from the other at birth. But all this time I've carried bits and pieces of her within the tangles of my DNA, within my blood, within my chest. The one I've been actively searching for has been before me all along, and it's taken me practically thirty three years to realize it.

"It's going to be hard," I think aloud. "But it's worth it. You'll always be worth it."


End file.
